In Nomine
by Kalistrata
Summary: The betrayal of a teammate has Patrick Jane searching for answers, but those answers may cost him his life. What is the measure of true loyalty? Eventual Jisbon. Rated M for language, violence, and eventual sex-related themes. Complete!
1. Hidden Pictures

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: The betrayal of a teammate has Patrick Jane searching for answers, but those answers may cost him his life. What is the measure of true loyalty? Eventual Jisbon. Rated M for language, violence, and eventual sex-related themes.

Comments: Wasn't sure who to go to for a beta reader for this, but if anyone is willing, let me know. This is a very long story that is already fully written as I intend it (I'm currently preparing later chapters for uploading), however, I am open to ideas and am willing to incorporate any good ideas that come through reviews. This is rated M for later chapters primarily, with the use of some coarse language and some issues regarding rape. Once again, anyone willing to beta read, please contact me! I've got enough material to tie you up for a while. This is likely the shortest chapter I will post in this story, but that was a good cutoff point. Let me know if you are ready to see more!

* * *

**Chapter 1-Hidden Pictures**

Juan Gabriel was in trouble.

As an officer of the law, that was common. What wasn't common is finding himself staring down the gun barrel of his partner of seven months.

"What the hell is this, Halloway?" he asked, glancing between his partner and their quarry, who was now standing comfortably next to Halloway.

"There's a reason I told you to stay with the car, kid," the older cop grumbled, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that he was pointing a gun at his rookie partner. "'Cause now, I'm probably gonna have to kill you."

Gabriel felt the blood rush from his face. "You sold out," he breathed, right hand moving toward his gun.

Halloway raised his. "Uh-uh, kid. Hands in the air."

Anger turned the younger cop's face red as he put his hands up. "And to think I respected you."

Eyebrows raising, Halloway spread his hands. "Sorry, kid. You woulda made a good cop if you minded your own business."

Halloway gestured to his companion, who raised his weapon. Gabriel gave them a last defiant look before bullets ripped into his chest. Expression left his face as he collapsed. He didn't hear Halloway frantically radio for help, didn't see the tears that Halloway so masterfully produced when the paramedics arrived. He took his secret with him, as so many cops had before.

* * *

Patrick Jane usually found his team to be fairly transparent. Most people were. Agent Kimball Cho was a little difficult sometimes, and likely Jane would have had a hard time reading him if he didn't know him. But he did, and that meant Cho was an open book.

Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt were the easiest. They were generally without guile and unused to hiding things. He never had a problem reading either of them. In fact, they were almost too vocal with their body language, especially Van Pelt.

He had once thought Agent Teresa Lisbon was transparent and easy to read and uncomplicated. Usually the more he got to know someone, the more transparent they got. He was finding after over a year of knowing her, that he wasn't sure he really knew her at all.

He'd gotten a weird vibe from her lately, and he couldn't explain it. Jane didn't like things he couldn't explain. She seemed easy to read, but Jane got this nagging feeling that there was something deeper. Something she was hiding. That bothered him, a lot. He trusted her, and liked her. Patrick Jane did not like secrets, especially when he was unsure they even existed.

Her family was one thing, and while he thought his suppositions regarding her history were likely fairly accurate, he understood her keeping those quiet. That wasn't something he'd push. This was different, more recent, and he felt like he was trying to look at one of those hidden 3d pictures. The harder he looked, the less he saw, but he knew that if he just looked at it in the right way, that maybe he would see it.

The object of his thoughts emerged from her office, taking several documents to the filing cabinet. She looked tired and preoccupied. Jane felt the urge to go talk to her, to figure out what was wrong, but something held him back.

As if she sensed him looking at her, her head came up and her eyes locked with his. He gave her a little smile and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but her lips turned up a bit in the corners.

Her phone trilled quietly, and she pulled it from her belt. He'd come to recognize the ring for her text messages, and she glanced at her phone for a moment, then clipped it back into its holster. Maybe that's what was bothering him, all these texts lately. Maybe she had a boyfriend. Jane frowned inwardly. He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the thought of her having a boyfriend, or the fact that he was bothered by the thought of her having a boyfriend.

"Can you all hold down the fort for a bit?" Lisbon asked, her green eyes surveying her team. Her question was primarily directed at Cho, since he was next in command, but her glance included them all. "I have to run a couple errands for Minelli."

Jane frowned, visibly this time, but he quickly wiped the expression off. She was giving him mixed signals with her body language, that she was both lying and telling the truth about the same thing.

"Sure, Boss," Cho said absently, barely glancing at her from his book. "Unless we get a wave of homicides, we'll be sitting on our asses all day anyway."

"Thanks, Cho. Call me if we get anything."

The other three turned back to their work as she left, but Jane watched her leave, a contemplative look on his face.

Giving her about two minutes, Jane stood. "I'll be back in a bit," he murmured. No one seemed to notice he was leaving.


	2. To Second Thessalonians

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: I went ahead and put up two chapters to get you all going. Again, looking for any beta readers for the future chapters...its looking at about 13 chapters from here. Reviews are very much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 2- To Second Thessalonians**

He barely got to the parking lot in time, and slid into his seat as her SUV blew by him. Waiting a few seconds, he backed out and settled in several car lengths behind her. He had to be careful, considering how identifiable his vehicle was.

She didn't seem to notice him as they went into the industrial district, and he fell further back as traffic thinned. His time with the CBI had taught him many useful skills, one of them being tailing effectively. Jane tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. Where could she be going down here?

Her car turned down an alley, and he pulled up along the street, hopping out. Patrick Jane jogged up to the corner and watched as she got out and checked her gun. Lisbon slid her weapon back into her holster and pulled open a rusted door. Jane moved into the alley as the door thumped closed behind her.

He gave her twenty seconds. Quietly, Jane pulled the door open, simultaneously putting his phone on silent. He carefully closed the door, keeping it from slamming. It was dark and took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Unease filled him. This wasn't exactly the place to meet a boyfriend.

He heard a voice, a man's voice, and stopped, listening. It was indistinct, but he heard Lisbon respond to him. Moving forward, he took cover behind the many boxes and pieces of broken machinery that littered the floor of this obviously abandoned factory.

"The kid followed me, I had no choice," an older man's gruff voice said.

"This will be the third, Halloway," Lisbon said irritably. "You're going to blow my cover if I have to keep cleaning up your messes."

Jane peeked out behind his cover. Several men stood behind Halloway, lounging in the darkness, all armed. Halloway looked familiar, but Jane couldn't place him.

"Listen, bitch. I do what the Chief tells me to, and your job is to clean up messes. You'll do what's necessary to keep us in the clear, or I'll tell the Chief that you're being uncooperative."

At Halloway's tone, his flunkies seemed to tense and hands found weapons. Jane quickly began typing out an emergency text message to Van Pelt, just in case things went south. What the hell was she doing in here without backup?

"I know what my job is, Halloway, and I do it well. That unfortunately can't be said for us all." Lisbon's voice was scornful, arrogant. Jane wasn't sure he had ever heard her use a tone like that before. She was one of the most humble people he knew.

Halloway had her against the wall, off her feet, before Jane could take a breath. He was a huge man, seeming larger in comparison to Lisbon. They seemed frozen in a tableau, each simply staring at the other. Jane detected no fear from Lisbon, didn't see it in her green eyes. All he saw there was a smoldering anger. Jane sent the text message and hoped the team hurried.

He felt sweat break out on his brow. Dare he do something? Could he do anything if Halloway was intent on killing her?

"The Chief is not going to care if I kill you, Lisbon. You're just a tool, easily replaced." His massive hand was around her neck. Jane tensed and started to stand, until he saw what Halloway had apparently just seen.

Lisbon had a gun against his chest, and his face grew cautious.

"Put me down, Halloway," she rasped. "Or I'll have another mess to clean up."

He dropped her after a moment and stepped back, hands in the air. Four weapons were trained on her and she took an unsteady sidestep that put Halloway between most of them. Lisbon quickly regained her balance with only the slightest massaging of her neck to show that she'd been discomforted.

Jane was very confused about Lisbon's role in this, but it wasn't sounding good. What messes was she cleaning up? What messes was Halloway making? Who was Halloway? Who was their Chief? What cover would be blown? He hoped Van Pelt arrived without sirens, like he told them to, and came in quietly, like he'd said. These thoughts raced through his head even as the strange performance continued in front of him. Halloway was nervous but belligerent, trying to assert authority over Lisbon. She completely ignored his attitude, holding herself apart from him and his men, as if she were in a different league.

"You're unstable, Halloway," Lisbon warned. "You need to get a hold of yourself, or you're gonna blow this all to hell. If you do, I can guarantee you that turning yourself in won't keep you safe from the Chief. Or me. Now get your act together and tell me what the hell happened." Now Lisbon was invoking the Chief's name with the authority that Halloway had attempted to and failed.

It worked spectacularly for her. Halloway's shoulders slumped slightly, and he gestured to the four men behind him. They holstered their weapons, reluctantly, and Lisbon followed suit after the last man had.

"I staged a chase with a buyer," he said reluctantly. "Kid was supposed to stay with the car, and he didn't. He was too smart to be fooled, and too dumb to go along. The buyer killed him, but this is my second partner dead in a year. I'm under suspicion. I can't complete this deal. The buyer is scared off."

"He doesn't trust you, so you can't send your…friends." Lisbon gestured absently in the direction of his minions. They scowled at her dismissal. "So what do you need from me?"

"I need you to meet with the buyer tonight. And I need you to step into this case somehow, get me cleared."

Lisbon shook her head. "The first I can do. The second, you're on your own, Halloway. I already exerted my influence in your other partner's death, I can't do it a second time without drawing suspicion too."

Suddenly it clicked. Jane recognized the man, a cop, whose longtime partner had been killed about nine months ago. Jane had always had reservations on the case, but Lisbon had closed it quickly, clearing Halloway of charges. His mind was racing. The part of him that trusted Lisbon so much fought with the logical portion of his mind that was slowly processing that Lisbon might actually be a dirty cop, and had been for a while.

He nearly jumped as Van Pelt touched his shoulder. She had a vest on, and Cho and Rigsby were behind her, just as silent. Her gun was out.

"I don't care. You're a trusted CBI agent. No one is going to suspect you. Just do it."

"You aren't my boss, Halloway. I take orders from one person only, and I won't do it unless he tells me to," Lisbon said stiffly. "My team isn't full of idiots, and they're going to catch on to what is going on. I can't clear you again without giving up my cover—and yours too. What about that is so hard to understand?"

"The hell is going on?" Van Pelt breathed into Jane's ear.

Jane shook his head.

"Give me the buyer's info, and I'll deal with him," Lisbon said, holding out a hand. "If the Chief has an idea to clear you without giving us both away as dirty cops, then I'll do it. But I'd be careful, Halloway. Your days might be numbered." Lisbon's voice was darkly amused as he handed her a piece of paper. Halloway gulped, but he glared at her.

This was like a totally different woman. Jane wasn't quite sure what to think. She read the paper and then pulled a matchbook out. The little slip of paper burned brightly for a second, and then she dropped it and the match to the ground.

The three cops behind him had heard enough, and they moved. "CBI, freeze!" Rigsby bellowed, as the three of them took defensible positions, guns out.

Lisbon turned slowly, her hands coming up, her face grim.

Halloway chuckled, even as he held his hands up. "So much for your cover being intact, Lisbon."

She didn't even favor him with a glare. Jane could almost see her mind working.

Suddenly, shots rang out from behind Lisbon and Halloway. Lisbon calmly moved off to the side, pulling her gun from its holster. Halloway pulled his as well, seeking minimal cover, but fired towards Cho's position, yelling obscenities and taunts toward the CBI agents. Jane huddled between Van Pelt and Rigsby, wishing he had a vest too.

* * *

Lisbon took cover, cursing Jane. She knew it was Jane, had to be Jane that followed her, or convinced the others to do it. She knew she had two options, and didn't like either of them. She could try to convince her team that what they had seen wasn't really what it seemed. Lisbon shook her head. There would still be investigations and mistrust, and the likelihood of things going very wrong was high.

The alternative was to break ties with the team now and maintain her relationship with the Chief. She didn't know the Chief—no one on her level did. She did what he asked, though, and had moved up in the organization since her recruitment nearly two years ago. She couldn't do her current job with them any longer, but perhaps there was something else she could do, if she held this together here. Someone else could take her job—there were always cops that could be turned.

Halloway was still shooting like a maniac, keeping Cho pinned down. Rigsby and Van Pelt had each taken out one of his goons, but the other two had moved into more defensible positions and the result was a pretty heated gun battle.

Either way, Halloway had outlived his usefulness. Lisbon, only ten feet from the large man, fired a bullet into his skull. He dropped to the ground, dead before he hit. Now he couldn't talk to either the Chief or the CBI. Swinging her weapon over to her former teammates, she watched, deciding.

Her gun found a good line on Van Pelt, and when she came out of cover, Lisbon fired twice, carefully, precisely. The other woman dropped and was quickly pulled back under cover. The last goon, unable to escape, continued to fire, and she slipped out the back door, hearing his cry as he was hit.

She hopped in Halloway's sporty car and sped off.

* * *

To Jane, the gun battle seemed to last forever. When silence fell, it seemed to him that everyone moved in slow motion. Van Pelt moved barely out of her cover, trying to get a line on the last few gunmen. Two distinct shots sounded, and with an involuntary gasp, Van Pelt dropped next to him.

"Grace!" Rigsby bellowed, but his attention was torn from her as another wave of gunfire forced him to react.

There was a quick pause before both Cho and Rigsby returned fire. Jane pulled Van Pelt fully behind the barrier. Blood was welling up from a graze on her arm, but it wasn't serious enough for her to be unconscious. As he ripped through the buttons on her shirt, Jane pulled the Velcro on the vest frantically.

The bullet had gone through the vest right over her heart, but he saw no blood. Suddenly Van Pelt coughed, and Jane pulled a small book from her chest pocket on her undershirt. Not just any book, the Bible. The bullet was lodged all the way to Second Thessalonians.

"Dammit, she got away," Rigsby growled. "Is she alright?" he asked anxiously, towering over Jane. Cho glanced at Van Pelt, saw she was conscious, and moved outside the barrier.

"I'm fine, Wayne," she murmured, favoring him with a reassuring smile.

Jane held up the Bible. "Handy things, Bibles," he commented.

"Why the hell would Lisbon shoot Van Pelt?" Rigsby asked. "That could have killed her! Lisbon knew that! Right over her heart!" His voice was full of rage as he knelt down beside her.

Van Pelt seemed shaken as Jane held a clean handkerchief of his over her graze. "For once, I'm not really sure what to think," Jane admitted quietly. His eyes met Van Pelt's, but she closed them with a sigh of discomfort. He could hear sirens in the distance.

"All five are dead," Cho reported. "Lisbon went out the back after shooting Van Pelt. I need to call Minelli. Rigsby, you're with me. Jane, get Van Pelt to the hospital and get that bandaged."

"I want to go to the hospital," Rigsby said sullenly.

Cho shook his head. "I need you here, Rigsby. It's not serious. She'll be fine." His tone was matter-of-fact and brooked no argument.

Rigsby scowled at Cho, but didn't protest further. Jane put a supporting arm under Van Pelt, and she stood unsteadily.

Jane helped Van Pelt into his car and angled toward the nearest hospital. His mind was jumbled, full of thoughts, of analysis, trying to figure out if he should have seen this coming. He should have, he knew. He just couldn't piece it together.

"Do you always keep a Bible there when you go to a scene?" he asked her suddenly. She was very pale, her head resting against the side of the car.

"If I wear a vest, yeah. My dad served in Desert Storm, and he always kept one there. It saved his life once. I've always done it, more as a good luck charm than any thought that it might save my life like it did his. Guess it was a good idea."

Her eyes were closed, her voice quiet, but it seemed strong. She was going to be alright, he told himself.

"You were really lucky," he noted.

"I can't believe Lisbon's a dirty cop," Van Pelt said bleakly. "She seemed so…I don't know. I really admired her, Jane."

He could hear the hurt in her voice, but he didn't think it was her wound talking.

"I should have seen it coming," Jane admitted quietly. "Of all people, I should have seen what was going on."


	3. A Question of Loyalty

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: Thanks for the reviews, they are much appreciated! Here's the next chapter, and maybe it will help tide you over until the finale a little later tonight. Keep reviewing, they make my day. I'm going to try and release a chapter a day for you all, so keep giving me feedback on what you think of the story. If you think it's headed an unbelievable direction, I'm prepared to correct that course. This was a tough story to write, but a fun one, and I hope you all continue to enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter 3-A Question of Loyalty**

When Jane and Van Pelt arrived back at CBI, Cho and Rigsby sat in the squad room looking mutinous. Well Rigsby looked mutinous, and Cho just…looked like Cho. The solid rock in the middle of the stormy ocean—that was Cho. His face was impassive, but Jane saw him critically assess Van Pelt as she walked by him. She'd been given some painkillers and Jane gently guided her to the couch, where she stretched out gratefully.

"We've been pulled off the case," Rigsby growled. Despite his size, Jane had never thought Rigsby to be especially intimidating. He was more like a big stuffed teddy bear. But today, Jane saw rage just below the surface, and it was a little unbalancing. Maybe more like a WWE-themed teddy bear.

Van Pelt's brows came together. "Pulled off? They gave it to someone else?"

"We're all on the desk pending investigation. You two still need to give your statements," Cho explained in his normal monotone.

"They think we were involved?" Jane asked, sitting down at Van Pelt's desk.

Cho shrugged. "I would investigate us too. Lisbon is, fortunately or unfortunately, not our problem right now. They gave it to Vasquez's team."

Jane nodded absently. "Cho," he said suddenly. "Did you know about Van Pelt's Bible, that she always keeps on one her?"

Cho just gazed calmly at Jane, with a quick glance to Van Pelt. "Yeah, why?"

Jane shook his head. "Lisbon's a pretty good shot, right? Like, she hits what she shoots at?"

Rigsby's eyes flashed dangerously, but Cho answered. "Usually. She's one of the best with a handgun that I've seen. Why, Jane?"

Jane stood, pacing slowly. "No reason. Just trying to put pieces together." A flash of inspiration hit him and he stopped suddenly in the middle of the room. "I'll be back later."

"Jane, your statement?" Cho reminded.

Jane waved him away as he rushed from the squad room. "Later!"

* * *

Lisbon knew she couldn't go home, but she dumped Halloway's car and hotwired an older Ford Escort. There were protocols for having your cover blown, ones she had memorized ages ago. Unfortunately, she had no time for them now. She needed to prepare to meet with Halloway's buyer.

In the alley behind a gaming store, she knocked on the back door. A red-headed kid, after seeing her, retrieved her heavy duffel bag and handed it to her, then shut the door in her face. The store was a front for the Chief's operations, and a contact point for her if her cover was blown. Her bag contained a several changes of clothes, a few thousand in cash, a pre-paid phone, a couple of weapons, and plenty of spare ammunition.

Throwing the bag in the passenger's seat of her newly acquired car, she quickly changed and pushed her badge and CBI-issued gun under her seat. After strapping on her other two handguns and stowing some ammo, she checked her watch. She had an hour, time to get going.

* * *

When Jane got to Lisbon's apartment, he wasn't expecting it to be so easy. The landlord had seen Jane with Lisbon several times when she had to stop by her apartment during a case, and gladly handed over the key. Jane thanked him and took the stairs up to her third floor apartment.

She had never let him in before, always made him wait outside. He understood why when he let himself in.

This place was her sanctuary.

It was beautifully decorated with a rustic, antique feel. She had pieces of furniture that he suspected to be decades old, some possibly centuries. Some of it was exquisitely made, and some looked as if it had been made with an inexperienced, though loving hand. She had a feminine writing desk against one wall that held a docking station for a laptop, but no computer was to be found. He sat on her couch, looking around at the room. Lisbon hadn't—and wouldn't—come back here, he knew. He wasn't really sure why he'd come here, except that he'd needed to see where she lived, see what it told him.

There were no pictures of people in the living room. Jane stood and walked around, his shoes quiet on the hardwood floor. There were photos and paintings of rural and nature scenes. It was a very relaxing place, and he immediately liked it.

He pushed open the door to her bedroom, a bit cautiously. He knew that if Lisbon was truly innocent, that this was line-crossing. However, Jane had very little evidence that she was, and figured she would forgive him otherwise.

Lisbon's bed was of French styling, if Jane's memory served him. There was a matching bedside table, both in rich mahogany. There was a wooden box full of pictures on the bedside table, and Jane thumbed through them. Most were pictures of Lisbon's family when she was young, very few after she was ten or so. Some more recent ones of men that Jane figured were her brothers, and their families. A very old Bible sat next to it, and he opened it, careful for the fragile binding and pages.

The Bible contained generations of births and deaths of Lisbons and others. Walshs, O'Neills, MacLaughlins. A real treasure, this was. He carefully set it back down.

He couldn't read her. Everything he saw was telling him to trust her, that she valued tradition and history and loyalty. Her actions went against that, a contradiction of everything he saw here. Was she as good as he was at reading people? Had she read him and fooled him? Or was this what she really was? Was there an explanation for her actions? Could she have loyalty for something other than CBI and her team, something that preempted her job and friends? He didn't know, but it was time to find out.

* * *

Minelli was gathering his briefcase when Jane slipped in his office. The older man stopped, shoulders slumping. "What do you want, Jane?" he asked regretfully. His glance at the clock was followed by a sigh.

"How long has Lisbon been working on this case for you?" Jane asked bluntly, blocking the closed door.

Minelli shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Lisbon is, by all accounts, by _your_ account, a dirty cop. My ass is on the line for this."

"She told me about it, Minelli. Well, I suspected and she admitted it. That you were looking for dirty cops, that is. I just want to know how long, and if we're going to be able to get her out of this."

Minelli's face reddened with anger. "She told you?" he whispered fiercely. "The hell was she—" His face went neutral suddenly. Jane grinned. "She didn't tell you, did she." It was a statement, not a question.

"You're too easy, Minelli," Jane drawled.

Minelli scowled at him. "Sit down, Jane," he ordered, leaning back against his desk. "Now you listen to me. Lisbon's life is on the line because you followed her. You blew her cover. She had two choices, but only one would complete the job, and that was being forced to shoot her way out and get in good with their boss. Now she's out of communication with me, and I can't help her. Not to mention one of my best teams is deskbound under investigation. The last thing I need is you out there blindly traipsing around thinking you can help her. You can't. You need to let her do what she does best."

"Lie?" Jane asked blithely.

Minelli rolled his eyes. "Catching criminals, you nitwit. Keep this information to yourself. It's best now for your team that they feel betrayed, otherwise they could come under further investigation. Do you understand?"

"Of course."

Minelli's face darkened. "I mean it, Jane. Leave this alone. You don't want to be responsible for Lisbon's death, and if you meddle, you could be."

Jane gave him a cheery smile. "Don't worry about me, Boss," he said, standing. "I only interfere when I know it will drive Lisbon nuts."

"That," Minelli grumbled to himself as Jane breezed through the door, "is what I'm afraid of."

* * *

Rigsby took Van Pelt home after she gave her statement, and Jane conned Cho into going out for some dinner and a drink. Well, it was more that Cho knew that Jane had been in to see Minelli, and that combined with Jane's self-satisfied smirk said that Jane had news. Cho needed news.

Strangely, Jane took them far out of cop turf into an upscale bar near downtown. Cho liked cop bars, he felt comfortable there, but he didn't say a word to Jane. He probably had his reasons.

"Those questions you asked earlier," Cho prodded. "You think Lisbon knew about the Bible, because I did."

Jane's eyes twinkled. Cho always thought it was an expression, but somehow, Jane actually had it. A twinkle. The hell. "Yes," Jane answered, taking on his lecturing tone. "I assumed since you knew, Lisbon knew. Lisbon always did know pretty much everything about the team. She notices small things like that."

"So you think she hit Van Pelt on purpose, knowing it wouldn't seriously injure her—why?" Cho asked directly, in a tone near to his interrogation tone. His face was largely neutral as he took a sip of his beer. He was glad the bar was rather boisterous and noisy tonight. It kept their conversation private.

"Cover. Reputation."

"You think she's undercover?"

"It's confirmed, unofficially." Jane took a drink of his own beer.

Cho sat back, his only display of surprise. That meant Minelli had confirmed it for Jane.

"Why Van Pelt?" Cho asked after a contemplative moment. "Doesn't seem to be the most logical choice, does it? Why not just graze me or Rigsby?"

Jane held up two fingers. "Two reasons. One: she knew about the Bible, and knew others might not. It looks like she went straight for a kill, so she'll look good with her employer, and throw investigators off track. Everyone thinks she was trying to kill Van Pelt, and only dumb luck saved her. The graze was for the added effect of blood. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I think you know as well as I do that she could be reasonably certain of this exact outcome. If she'd just grazed one of you, it may have been suspicious to her employer.

"Two: of any team members, shooting Van Pelt is probably the surest way to turn us against her. For you and I, it's the woman thing, the need to protect them, what with the chauvinist pigs we are. Rigsby's in love with her, and I'm pretty sure he'd die for her, given the necessity. She hoped we wouldn't think beyond that. Brilliant, really. Considering how much time she had to act…" Jane trailed off and shrugged as the waitress brought their plates. "…and how risky it was."

Cho dug in immediately. It reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. "So assuming you're right on all this, why Lisbon? Why did she get this assignment? _What_ is this assignment?"

Jane enthusiastically cut into his steak. "I have some theories," he said around a piece of meat.

"Of course you do," Cho said, monotone.

"First is the what. Notice I didn't take us to a cop bar," Jane said, gesturing around with his knife.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Dirty cops. She's flushing out dirty cops."

Cho frowned slightly. "That Halloway guy wasn't CBI though. Why would she be helping local departments?"

Jane shrugged. "Maybe their IA can't handle it. Maybe it's not just one department. Who knows?" He took a bite of the garlic mashed potatoes, savoring them with a small moan of delight. "These are delicious. Cho, you need to try these."

The shorter man shook his head. "Maybe some other time. What was your other theory?"

Jane flashed the waitress a winning smile as she filled up their water. "Thanks…other theory? Oh, yes. Irish. It's the Irish."

Cho just stared at him. "The Irish," he repeated.

Jane nodded. "Lisbon's Irish, you know."

A long-suffering expression draped over Cho's features. "No, I didn't. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Halloway's Irish. I think the dirty cops are all Irish, but I can't prove it. Needs research. But maybe that's why she was picked. Maybe her parents or family had some involvement. Maybe just 'cause she's Irish. Maybe nothing. I don't know. That's just my theory."

"You're a pain in the ass to get information out of, you know," Cho said, popping a fry into his mouth.

Jane just smiled and cut another piece of steak.

After a moment, Cho sighed. "Did you ever think that maybe she's just a bad cop, Jane?" he asked reluctantly. "That maybe she's been working for the mob or something?"

The blonde man's face darkened slightly. "It's crossed my mind, man. It's certainly crossed my mind."

"What're you going to do if that's the case?"

Jane studied him a moment. "I dunno. Doubt everything I've ever known to be true, probably. If there was one person I thought was a genuinely good person, it was Teresa Lisbon."


	4. Patriotism

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: Again thanks for the reviews! While I have the story written, they're very valuable to me. I'm always adjusting each chapter (and in some cases, completely rewriting as I did Chapter 11 last night!), especially right before I post them, and any feedback just helps me write a better story for you. This may seem a bit slow for now, but just wait. Things will heat up shortly :) It's a hard story to set up, but it's worth it. This is kind of a short chapter, so I may get another up a little later tonight. And yes, the Season Finale was great last night, and now fanfiction is all that will sustain us over the summer!

As another quick comment: I'm not an expert on drugs, drug deals, organized crime, or the Irish. Any and all mistakes or mischaracterizations are unintended.

**Chapter 4-Patriotism**

Lisbon didn't know how drug dealers did it, but being in possession of a substantial amount of methamphetamine made her more than a little nervous. Fixing cases was one thing. Hauling a trunkload of meth through Sacramento was something completely out of her comfort zone.

It was a small park on the edge of town, and it was thankfully deserted. She knew this place, knew that it had a reputation for drug deals and assaults. The uniforms would be all over it in a few hours, but it was shift change, and she would have a little while.

She got out of the car and leaned against the trunk, arms crossed. Since she'd begun this assignment, at random times, she felt the almost overwhelming need for a cigarette, something she had not felt for years. Lisbon knew it was the stress combined with the boredom of waiting, but she was glad she didn't have any available, or she might find herself falling off that wagon.

Halloway must have told the man who he would be looking for, because he stopped and leaned against the car with her. He _did_ have a cigarette.

"You must be Halloway's replacement," the man said, letting out a stream of smoke through his nostrils. He was tall and dark, and any other time, Lisbon might have felt herself attracted to him. Not today.

"You have my apologies for Halloway's behavior," Lisbon said, letting her disdain of the man bleed into her voice. "He's been…removed from the organization, permanently."

The man chuckled. "Good to see that your boss doesn't put up with incompetent fools. You have what was promised?"

Lisbon stepped away from the trunk, and he did as well. She popped it, displaying the methamphetamine that filled her car's trunk. Her buyer pulled a wicked knife out and made a small incision into one of the bales. "Good stuff," he said finally. "We can deal." He beckoned to the darkening distance and a car's lights suddenly came on. It moved beside hers, and several young men from the car moved the meth.

Her contact passed her a briefcase as they worked, and she examined it carefully. Everything was in order. She pushed it into the trunk and shut it.

The man was still leaning against the car, grinning at her like an adolescent. Great.

"Really love, we should grab some dinner, don't you think? I'm Charlie, by the way."

Lisbon gave him her best bored expression as she opened her door. "I doubt that would be a good idea. Maybe next time." With a smile that said "fat chance" she slid into the seat. He was still smiling as he watched her go.

* * *

She arrived at the drop five minutes ahead of schedule. Lisbon carried the briefcase in her left hand, and her gun in her right as she slipped through the chain-link fence that encompassed the construction site.

Four men waited, impatiently. She recognized only two of them, the first being James O'Leary, a cop from Sacramento PD, and a prominent member of the Irish mob in California. That last wasn't public knowledge of course, unless you were acquainted with the Irish mob.

Had she not known the history of the Irish mob in far more detail than she wished, she would have thought California a highly unlikely area for it to reemerge. But reemerge it did, and she was in the middle of it.

The other man she had only ever seen in old pictures, but she recognized him immediately. He wouldn't expect her to know him, or even recognize him, but she did. She was more than a little shocked to see these two men at a simple drop.

"Lisbon," O'Leary greeted as she holstered her weapon. "I take it you completed the deal?"

She hefted the briefcase and handed it to O'Leary. "Two and a half million," she confirmed.

O'Leary glanced at it and nodded. "Good work. I heard about Halloway. It was probably a good thing he took a bullet in that fire fight."

"The bullet he took wasn't from the CBI Agents," she said dryly. "He was in the middle of having a mental breakdown before they even showed up."

She kept her eyes firmly on O'Leary, who seemed to express approval, but she saw one of the others shift uneasily.

"I heard that it was your team from CBI that crashed the party," one man said with a thick brogue, almost accusatory.

Lisbon shifted her gaze to him, letting it cool. "I didn't tip them off, if that's what you're implying. I put a bullet in one of them, but I don't know about the others. I slipped out before the fight was over."

O'Leary waved it off. "Halloway and his team are dead, that's what matters. They outlived their usefulness. Lisbon, I'd like you to meet the Chief, Conway Monaghan. Chief, Teresa Lisbon."

He extended a hand and she took it, shaking it. "It's a pleasure, sir," she murmured, trying to hide the shock that threatened. She knew Monaghan, a friend of her father. She knew he was high in the organization. She hadn't expected him to be the Chief himself.

"I knew your parents, Teresa," he said. "Your father was a good son of Ireland."

She let bitterness touch her lips. "My father was a pathetic drunk, but I appreciate the sentiment."

He inclined his head in acquiescence. "You are a very direct woman," he noted.

Lisbon gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'm direct when I'm not lying for you, sir," she murmured, and he laughed heartily.

"Let's retire to dinner. You'll be my guest. You have had a long day." Monaghan gestured to the car, and O'Leary held the door for them. She hesitated only a nanosecond before sliding into the dark limousine, knowing that at this point, she could only go forward. There was no going back.

* * *

Jane and Cho were both back at the office after eating, and Jane was glad that Minelli was no longer there looking over their shoulders.

Cho had several boxes piled beside his desk, Lisbon's old case files. Some were ten years old. Cho had begun with the oldest, and slowly moving forward, separating files into three piles. Jane didn't know how Cho classified them, but Jane determined that they were Highly Interesting, Moderately Interesting, or Not Interesting. Cho's Not Interesting pile was much higher than the others.

Jane had a harder job. He was trying to get information on Lisbon before the CBI records began. Van Pelt was the go-to person for this stuff, but Jane felt a little bad waking her up in the middle of a vicodin-induced sleep to have her help him clear the woman who had shot her. No, it wouldn't do, at least for now. Morning would be soon enough.

So he sat at Van Pelt's computer and kept searching, trying not to think about where Lisbon might be at this very moment.

* * *

Lisbon found herself at a long dinner table in a multi-million dollar home on the outskirts of Sacramento. So close, all this time, and she'd never known. Monaghan had explained to her that the money that the "Sacto Irish", as they referred to themselves, received from their dealings in the States supported a united Ireland, which she knew to mean Irish nationalist organizations. They had been far more prominent in the 90's, but after a quiet hiatus, it seemed they were rearing their heads again, hording money for future operations, likely. She didn't know exactly which organization he supported, nor did it really matter to her. They all supported the same thing, with different tactics.

Monaghan had good markets here for drugs and loan sharking, especially with the recession. There was also plenty of evidence that Monaghan had a booming business with Mexican drug cartels for his guns. She was fairly certain that he made most of his money off loans, and likely shady involvement in the stock market. The money was then sent back to Ireland, though apparently not all of it. Monaghan lived very well.

She ate methodically, paying more attention to the conversation than the food, trying not to appear overly interested. She filed every statement, every joke, every question away for future reference.

Alcohol had loosened the seven Irishmen that sat around the table. O'Leary sat at Monaghan's right, and another older man, Hennessy, sat to Monaghan's left. The two younger men who had accompanied Monaghan and O'Leary to the drop sat across from her, where she sat next to O'Leary. The table was filled in with two more men younger than she was, but cops both of them, by their demeanor. All four of the younger men either glared at her with suspicion or leered openly. She wasn't sure which made her more uneasy.

The two younger were introduced to her as Monaghan's sons, which surprised her. She hadn't figured Monaghan for the father type.

They talked politics, as Irishmen will, and women, none of whom she knew. After a particularly bawdy joke, Monaghan had the good grace to appear embarrassed and a pregnant silence fell over the table.

"I jus' canna get o'er it, Teresa," Monaghan said suddenly. "Y'look so much like yer mother. Your dad went a bit off his nut when she died, yeah?"

Alcohol slurred his speech and accented his lilt, which he had obviously gone to great lengths over the years to smother.

"Something like that, sir," she said vaguely, taking a drink of her beer.

He nodded absently. "I'm glad ye don' share her sentiments. She was a soft woman, thought we were fools for what we believed." Monaghan sighed with what seemed to be remorse, but he held her eyes, and she found she couldn't look away.

Instead, she favored him with a grim smile. "My father may have been a drunk and a coward in his last year, but he made sure that we knew our heritage, Mr. Monaghan." Lisbon let her own lilt of Ireland blend, just barely, into her voice. Two could play this game. She naturally spoke without it, being raised in America, but she had heard it enough as a child to imitate it easily. "I was ten when my mother died, old enough to understand. I'm not my mother--just a daughter of Ireland. I don't shrink back from what has to be done."

"Well-said, Teresa," O'Leary said after a moment, slapping her on the back. Even the younger men smiled and a new round of alcohol was summoned and brought. Lisbon forced herself to smile and laugh and drink as the seven male voices rose in an Irish drinking song that she was sure could be heard to that green island they all called home.


	5. Sobriety

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: Again thanks for the reviews. And for all those who ever thought I'd make Lisbon a dirty cop...pfft. Never. Also, as a note, the situation with her mother's death is based on true story from my family. The situation and reasons were different, obviously, but based on it nonetheless.

**Chapter 5-Sobriety**

Five hours later, Cho had added three files to the Highly Interesting pile and six to the Moderately Interesting pile, bringing the total to five and ten, respectively. The rest were re-filed and stack neatly by his desk. Jane had several printouts when Cho spun in his chair and placed the files on Van Pelt's desk in front of Jane.

"This is odd," Jane mused as he flipped through a file he'd had faxed over from the Sacramento Police Department. "Bizarre, even."

"What's that?" Cho asked, leaning forward onto his files.

Jane frowned. "This report just doesn't make sense. Joseph Lisbon is driving, his wife, Margaret in the passenger seat. A drunk driver, Bryan Kerrigan, comes out of nowhere, hits Joe's side. But it's Margaret who is thrown from the car and her neck is crushed by the tire of Kerrigan's car."

"Dunno man. However, your other theory might hold up after all," Cho said blandly, pushing a file open. Jane, still distracted by the report, barely glanced at him. "Three dead cops, all had partners with Irish sounding names. At least I think they are. Collins, Halloway, O'Malley. Two cops accused of drug related charges. Lisbon got all five of them off. Started about two years ago."

He shook his head, staring at the pages in front of him. "It's so obvious now. I remember all these cases. How did we not put it together?"

"Because we trusted her, and she was far more devious than any of us gave her credit for," Jane said absently, still examining a page. He placed another printout on top of his stack. "If she totally fooled me, none of the rest of you had a chance."

Cho eyed him. "Thanks, I think," he said dubiously.

"What's the other stack?" Jane asked, his eyes going to the slightly larger stack underneath the first.

Cho shrugged. "Other cases involving Irish mob members or those with Irish names involved in hits, drug distribution, or gun sales, all handled by Lisbon, all within the last two years. Some were charged, some were dropped. What did you find?"

Jane perused his findings. "Not exactly sure, but I think Lisbon's father may have been involved in the Irish mob or an Irish nationalist organization. Apparently Lisbon is a first generation American. Oldest of three kids, two younger brothers. Her parents were both from Ireland. Mother died in the aforementioned car wreck, father killed himself a year later. No other family in the States, and they went through foster homes until Lisbon was old enough to become a legal guardian for her brothers."

Cho shook his head as he looked at the paper Jane had handed him. "Tough cards," he murmured. "What makes you think he was in the mob?"

Jane slipped over three sheets of paper. "Three times arrested as a person of interest in a suspected mob hit. Three times a guy named Monaghan bails him out. Charges are dropped three times." Cho took the papers from him as Jane pushed another over. "Also, I think her mother's death was actually a hit."

Cho looked skeptical. "How do you figure?"

Jane shrugged. "Maybe this Kerrigan guy also worked for the mob. Maybe Margaret Lisbon didn't like her husband's involvement. She threatens to go to the police, but the mob can't let that happen. Gets rid of a possible informant, and teaches Joe Lisbon, as well as others, that no one, not even spouses, are allowed to jeopardize the organization. But if it's a clear hit, then it just confirms Joe Lisbon's involvement and makes him a target for police to turn informant himself."

Shaking his head, Cho grunted. "I think it's a bit far-fetched."

"This Monaghan guy, seemed to be taking good care of Joe Lisbon. I wonder if he's still in the area," Jane said casually, ignoring Cho's skepticism. Turning back to Van Pelt's computer, he typed in the man's name, then tested it on his tongue. "Conway Monaghan…" Jane hit enter.

His eyes flicked across the screen. "A few speeding tickets, but that's it. He lives in the metro area still. Think we should pay him a visit?"

Cho sat back. "Man, I hate to say this, but you should probably be the one to go. If he's involved, cops going to his house could be a bad idea. They might know about you too, though. You're not exactly an unknown in the area."

Jane sat back and rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. "That's nothing to worry about," he said dismissively. "I'm sure I can play this Monaghan to lead me to Lisbon, if not to the big fish they're after. Then at least Lisbon will have someone with her on the inside."

"And we can work it on the outside. I'll follow up on these cases I have, see if we can get a picture of the organization. I got an old academy classmate up in Organized Crime, and I'm pretty sure he owes me a favor."

Jane grinned at Cho. "And everyone said you were just a pretty face."

Cho crossed his arms and leaned back. "I highly doubt anyone ever said that to you," he said stoutly.

With renewed energy, Jane shot to his feet and on impulse pinched Cho's cheek. "But you are!"

Cho slapped his hand away. "That's just wrong, man," he protested, mortified.

Jane's grin widened. "I'm going to grab breakfast. Want anything?"

"Not from you," Cho scowled, rubbing his cheek.

* * *

Lisbon couldn't remember a more sleepless night than the one she'd just had. By morning, not only had she not slept, she felt as if she'd run a marathon. Drunk Irishmen were rarely problematic for her, but she didn't trust any of those that occupied the grounds of this estate. Monaghan had given her a luxurious room, and while she had pretended to sleep, she hadn't. A gun under her pillow, she had lain awake, listening for an intruder. Surely it hadn't been so easy to gain Monaghan's trust. Did he think she was playing him? Was he playing along? Or did he truly trust her? She sweated and worried about it all night, especially when she'd found a substantial number of listening devices, and even a small camera. She finally drifted off as the sky started to lighten.

At any rate, Lisbon made it through the night alive. She was a bit surprised, actually, when the tiniest sunbeams signaling the new day fell across her eyelids. She sprang awake, her gun in hand.

Lisbon was also quite shocked to find that she was a bit hungover. She groaned at the sudden movement, dropping her head into her hands. A hangover was bad enough, but a hangover on top of a sleepless night strung on nothing but adrenaline made it ten times worse.

Cursing everything from sunlight, to the Irish booze she'd drank, to St. Patrick, to Patrick Jane, she stood carefully, lest the headache increase in magnitude. She either needed to start drinking more, or never drink again, because she hadn't had _that_ much. Just enough to seem friendly, or at least Irish.

A bedside clock told her it was nearly eight. She doubted any of the others would be up, after the amounts they had consumed, but it would give her a head-start on the coffee. Lisbon grabbed her bag and locked herself in the adjoining bathroom for a shower. Short of intravenously administering coffee, a hot shower was the best thing for her on her road to full consciousness.

After racking up Monaghan's water bill, something she did with considerable perverse delight, she finally shut off the water and toweled her hair and body dry. Luckily there was very little choice in the way of clothes. There were the dark blue jeans, and the slightly darker blue jeans, along with a black collared shirt or a black formfitting shirt. She elected for the latter, and complete with her black leather jacket, dark hair, and the dark rings under her eyes, she felt it was a fairly dramatic look.

Lisbon wasn't sure what to find this early, but she was pleased to discover breakfast set up in the dining area. Her mood was only slightly sullied when she noticed Monaghan sitting in the same seat as he had last night, the morning paper laid out in front of him as he munched on a bagel.

His head came up as she entered, and he greeted her with a bright smile. "Teresa, Teresa, I see you're an early riser as well." Monaghan folded his paper. "Get something to eat and come sit."

She murmured her 'good morning' and gathered up a bagel and cream cheese. A fresh pot of coffee sat on the table and it steamed cheerfully as she poured the life-giving liquid into a mug. She could feel herself waking up just from the smell. God, she loved coffee.

If the smell was good, the taste was glorious. She didn't realize she was savoring it visibly until she heard a chuckle from her right. Monaghan's eyes contained amusement as he watched her. "Hungover?" he asked knowingly.

True embarrassment brought a slight blush to her cheeks. "It's been a while since I've had a good drink, or good company," she said honestly. "Too long, I suppose."

"Aye," he agreed softly, sipping his own coffee. After a moment of watching her, he pulled out a silver flask from his jacket and dashed her coffee with it. "A little help on the way to sobriety," he said, winking at her.

Lisbon couldn't help a wry grin. It was the Irish way. The only cure for alcohol was more alcohol.

An older woman entered and bent over Monaghan's shoulder, whispering in his ear. He nodded, glancing at Lisbon. "Show him in," he ordered, then favored Lisbon with a brief smile. Her guard came up. Something felt off, but she kept eating and absorbing her coffee as if nothing were wrong.

She nearly choked on her bagel when Patrick Jane walked through the door on the heels of Monaghan's employee. She was barely able to keep the shock off her face, though she really wasn't sure what expression she managed. Jane wasn't looking at her, at least not more than a brief heartbeat. His attention was on Monaghan.

"Mr. Monaghan, thanks for seeing me on such a short notice," Jane said grandly as Monaghan stood, extending a hand. Jane took it, and the two men shook.

"Not a problem, Mr. Jane. We were just eating a leisurely breakfast. May I introduce—"

Lisbon hoped Jane could follow. She prayed he could, and went ahead and apologized to St. Patrick, just in case. If he couldn't, she was shooting herself in the face, right now.

"We've met," she said irritably. "He works for me."

Jane's face simply went neutral. She had surprised him. He didn't know where to go from here. He smiled suddenly, but didn't speak, letting her go on.

"He's my freelancer in CBI, got him hired on as a consultant. There's some privileged freedoms for those who don't carry a badge, and they aren't watched nearly so closely." Lisbon let disapproval bleed into her voice. "I thought I told you to lie low for a while, Jane."

Jane shrugged. "Investigation is getting messy over there, Boss. You should see the infighting going on right now. Minelli and Cho are busy throwing blame on each other, and Rigsby's hovering over his girl you shot. FBI and IA are too distracted with the rest of the team to worry about a consultant. I slipped out, made sure I wasn't followed, and tracked you down. I apologize for the slight deception, Mr. Monaghan, but I wasn't absolutely sure I'd find her here until just now."

Monaghan had simply watched the conversation, his eyes largely remaining on Jane.

"How did you track her down, Mr. Jane?" Monaghan asked quietly. Warning bells went off in Lisbon's head. His tone sounded dangerous. "We weren't followed, Lisbon didn't know she would be coming here, and she has no tracking devices on her. How does a simple consultant find his way to my door?"

Jane flashed Monaghan one of his winning smiles. "I could tell you that I'm a psychic, but I doubt you'd believe me." Monaghan's lips curved very briefly up and he shook his head minutely. "Didn't think so. Well, I went through Lisbon's file, and her father's—"

"You had no right to go through that—" she began angrily, true anger.

"—under the guise of helping out the investigation of course." He held up a folder. "You bailed Joe Lisbon out several times. I figured you might be friends."

She scowled at him. "Jane—"

Jane shrugged. "Sorry, Boss. Good news is that the FBI won't find it either, and put two and two together. I looked up your name and here you are. I figured that even if you weren't involved, maybe you'd have an idea where I could look. But considering what I've been doing for Lisbon for the last year, helping cover up crimes committed by Irish cops, there was little doubt in my mind that you were behind it all, right, Chief?"

Lisbon just stared at him. Monaghan seemed to be almost overwhelmed. It was an odd sight on the big man. "I'll be completely honest, Mr. Jane. I don't know whether to make you my right hand man, or shoot you dead right here." Monaghan's tone made it clear that both options were on the table. Lisbon silently echoed the sentiment.

Jane's smile never wavered, and he leaned into Monaghan like a confidant. "I can tell you which one I'd prefer, sir. But the final decision is, as always, up to you."

Monaghan finally looked away from him to Lisbon. "Do you trust him, Teresa?" he asked seriously.

She was slightly startled by the question, and unsure how to answer. Well, she knew how to answer, she just wasn't sure if it would get her killed. Either Monaghan was playing her like a fiddle, or she had completely and utterly deceived him.

"With my life, Chief," she asserted strongly. "Even if he is a pain in the ass," she added sourly. It _was _rather early for this sort of thing. Jane grinned at her.

"Why are you here, Mr. Jane?" Monaghan asked suddenly, pointedly. "Why did you go through the trouble of finding Teresa?"

Jane looked surprised. "Isn't there only one reason, Mr. Monaghan?" he asked, glancing between them. Lisbon froze. Even now, his answer could get them both killed. "Loyalty. Loyalty is what makes a man. I made some promises. I intend to keep them. My loyalty is yours, if you'll take it." Jane's face was as serious as she'd ever seen it.

A smile blossomed on Monaghan's face, and he slapped Jane on the back. "A good man, Mr. Jane. A pleasant surprise behind a pleasant surprise!" His gaze took in Lisbon and she smiled, though it was a bit forced. Perhaps he'd think it was the hangover.

Hennessy's head poked through the door, and Monaghan waved at him. "There's work to be done, but you two take your time. I'll send a man when we have another job for you. Enjoy your breakfast!"

Monaghan followed Hennessy out, laughing boisterously and slapping Hennessy on the back. The older man winced at the volume, obviously suffering from the same ailment as she. Lisbon almost felt sorry for him.

And then she and Jane were alone at the table. She wasn't sure if she wanted to shoot him or kiss him. Maybe not kiss…but a very platonic hug. Maybe a firm handshake.

"I could kill you for coming to find me," Lisbon growled, pouring another cup of coffee from the pot on the table.

Jane shrugged. "It wasn't just you. It was the job. Something I had to do. I couldn't stay at CBI without you, at any rate. First of all, it's no fun. Second, they'd have thrown me to the wolves."

She shrugged at the veracity of his statement. While Minelli knew the truth, if Jane started making noise, he'd have to get rid of him.

"Van Pelt?" she asked finally, raising her eyes to his, almost afraid of the answer.

He smiled. "The outcome was what you expected."

Relief painted her face, but she just nodded. It was a chance she'd had to take, but it could have easily backfired on her.

Jane seemed to realize that they couldn't talk here, so contented himself with an English muffin and a cup of coffee. Lisbon settled in for another cup of coffee, her mind on Monaghan.


	6. Favors, Tall Tales, and Rumors

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: And things begin heating up! A small chapter, so I thought I'd go ahead and post it with Chapter 5. If I get time, I'll throw up Chapter 7 later today. I think you Jisbonites will like it...and probably hate it. It's a fine line, as they say...

**Chapter 6-Favors, Tall Tales, and Rumors**

Cho stood outside the small office currently occupied by Agent Matt Cardone, arms crossed. Cardone was arguing with his partner, which was not unusual. Angela Lee was a beauty, and every male in CBI knew it. They also knew that the Asian-Italian agent was bat-shit crazy. The worst was that she was extremely intelligent and knew it. It was a deadly combination. Most men did not really envy Cardone, however much they stared at Lee when they thought she wasn't paying attention.

Cardone scowled when Lee tossed her black mane and breezed out of his office, then shifted his attention to Cho. "No respect for your partner anymore," Cardone muttered, kicking his legs up on the desk. "'Course I guess its not bad considering what your boss did to you. Never would have pegged Lisbon for the turncoat type. Heard she shot Van Pelt."

Cho just absorbed his commentary and shut the door, taking a seat.

"Oh, no," Cardone drawled. "You're calling in that favor, aren't you?"

Cho just stared at him. "Might be," he said after a moment. He pushed a file onto the desk. "What do you know about this guy?"

Cardone glanced at the name and chuckled. "And why should I know anything about him?"

"'Cause you're Organized Crime and you know the players. Irish mob. Where does he play in?"

The other man's eyes flickered slightly. "This guy? He doesn't play in. He's as clean as a whistle."

Cho didn't blink. "Don't play with me, Cardone. I'm not in the mood."

Cardone shook his head and pushed the file back to Cho. "I'm sorry, man. I got nothing on this guy."

Cho studied him a moment. "What do you _think_ this guy is into?" he asked finally.

Shrugging, Cardone leaned back again, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. "I think he's the friggin' motherload, man. The Chief. I just got nothing to prove it."

Cho sat back in his chair. "What makes you think that?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"Years of investigating this organization and my fine-tuned Italian intuition, man." Cardone gave him a sardonic smile, but then his face darkened suddenly. "Don't you get involved in my case, Cho," he warned. "I got some delicate operations running here. I can't afford to have you Serious Crimes schmucks ruining years of hard work. You got me?"

Cho stood. "I'm just putting some pieces together, Cardone. My team's deskbound anyway."

Cardone looked a little relieved. "Good, that's good," he said absently. "Hey, you think Lisbon really meant to kill that rookie on your team?"

Cho grabbed the file on Cardone's desk. "That's what it looks like," he said stiffly. "See you around, Cardone."

* * *

Patrick Jane sat in a small study with a cup of tea beside him. Lisbon had been summoned by Monaghan nearly an hour ago, and while Jane appeared comfortable and at ease, his nerves were raw worrying about her. He hadn't counted on Monaghan being the Chief, nor had he counted on Lisbon being here. He was glad she had covered as she had, but he was still nervous.

Even as he let those gnawing fears take hold, the door opened and he stood. It wasn't Lisbon, but O'Leary.

"Mr. Jane, would you care to join us for dinner?"

Flashing him a smile, Jane gathered up his jacket. "Of course. Will Mr. Monaghan be attending?"

O'Leary nodded and lead him to the dining area. Monaghan and Hennessy were chatting quietly at the table, but Lisbon was nowhere to be seen.

"Mr. Jane," Monaghan greeted. "Have a seat. Dinner will be served shortly. I hope you enjoyed a relaxing day."

Smiling, Jane sat, adjusting his vest. "It was delightful. You have a beautiful home."

Monaghan nodded his thanks and took a sip of his beer.

"So did Lisbon opt out of our male company tonight?" Jane joked, though inwardly he was worried. He didn't like the fact that she wasn't here.

Monaghan waved him off. "She had a job to do tonight. She'll be back in time for dessert. It gives me a chance to get to know this man that she values so highly. Tell me, Patrick Jane…what does a man have to do to earn trust from Teresa Lisbon?"

* * *

The show must go on, Monaghan had told her grandly. As she sat alone in the crowded, smoke-filled bar, Lisbon shook her head. It was a show alright. With Halloway dead, a link in the organization had been broken. Monaghan reforged it stronger, better than ever, with Lisbon as his new link in the chain.

Despite Monaghan's dramatic words, the organization remained well intact and it was business as usual. Only one of Halloway's three informants had been scheduled to meet with him before Lisbon was ordered to replace the deceased cop. She had established contact with him this afternoon, per Monaghan's orders.

So Lisbon waited, fending of drunken suitors with a placid smile and a gun in their groin if they dared sit next to her. Only once had she been forced to resort to physical violence, and the man now glared at her from across the bar as he nursed a whiskey and cradled sore ribs.

Finally a man near her age dropped into the booth opposite her. "Lisbon, right?" he asked quietly, settling into his seat.

She nodded, and he tossed an envelope under the table to land on her booth between her and the wall.

"Jordan," he introduced. "I hear you offed Halloway." His eyes were a little bloodshot, though he seemed sober and clean. Tired then. "Good riddance to that fat bastard."

Lisbon just looked at him, neither confirming nor denying. He winked at her. "Quiet type, eh?"

"Something like that. Got anything else?" she asked a little impatiently, stowing the envelope in her jacket pocket.

He hesitated a moment. "I heard something," he began, then shrugged. "Rumor only, understand?"

"Sure," Lisbon assured, taking a quick drink of her Guinness, her eyes on the informant.

He played with a coaster idly, looking at his hands, not her. "I heard a rumor that there's been a major break in the Ironsides hit, that they could pin it on some pretty high people. I don't know if it's true or not." His eyes came up and he pushed the coaster aside. "But the guy I talked to seemed pretty sure that they would make some arrests. Thought the Chief would want to know."

Lisbon remembered the Ironsides case, though she hadn't worked it. The Ironsides was a generally Irish pub, and the owner along with several employees had been gunned down in a back office. The talk on the street said that he'd crossed the Chief of the Sacto Irish. She knew that Cardone and Lee up in Organized Crime had been working that case for months. Lisbon didn't know who they suspected.

"Any names?" she asked casually.

Jordan shook his head. "No, just that they thought they'd had a breakthrough. Thought the Chief should know."

Lisbon stood. "I'll pass it along. Thanks for the drink."

She ignored his disgruntled mutter as she strode out of the bar.

* * *

She arrived in the dining room after plates had been cleared away. Jane had the rest enthralled by a story—about her, she noted sourly.

"I'm standing there, leaning against the car, since I'm forbidden from anything that might involve bullets flying—"

"Too much paperwork if you get shot," Lisbon grumbled, sitting down in the seat beside him.

He flashed her a smile that she didn't return. Telling stories about her when she wasn't here. Hmph.

"So this guy comes tearing down the street. I have no idea what to do. It's just me and him, and he's got a little more incentive than I do to win that fight," Jane continued. His voice was slightly thick, as if he'd been drinking. Judging by the glass in front of him, he had. O'Leary was smiling and even Monaghan seemed amused.

Lisbon pulled the envelope from her pocket and reached over Jane to hand it to O'Leary, who took it absently, absorbed in Jane's story.

"As I'm trying to decide whether or not to be the hero and stand in front of this very motivated Latino gangbanger, or go lock myself in the car and wish the CBI luck, I see this dark blur—Lisbon—launch from the bushes on the side of the road and BAM—take him to the ground. Guy didn't know what had hit him until Lisbon pulled his face off the pavement."

The three men chuckled, grinning at her, but she waved them off as Monaghan's housekeeper brought her a plate of food. "Side effect of having brothers," she dismissed. She realized in the face of roast beef that she was starving, and immediately dug into her meal.

"Everything go well?" Monaghan asked casually.

Swallowing, she looked up. "Like clockwork," she reported. "Some unsubstantiated rumors about the Ironsides hit, though." Lisbon looked back down to her plate to cut her meat.

Monaghan nodded slowly. As much as she would have liked to keep that one to herself, she didn't know if he had other sources. If she missed reporting a rumor that he knew she should have passed…

"That's nothing to worry about," Hennessy said dismissively. "Cardone won't be a problem much longer."

Monaghan gave him a significant glance and Hennessy appeared a little embarrassed. He'd said too much. Interesting.

After an uncomfortable silence and an equally uncomfortable round of small talk, Monaghan and Hennessy excused themselves. Monaghan took the envelope with him. O'Leary remained behind, presumably to keep them company, but Lisbon knew it was to escort them to their separate rooms. They still weren't completely trusted.

She had a plan for that, though the thought of it filled her with dread. She really wasn't sure if this was better than being uncovered by Monaghan. It had to be done though.

As they followed O'Leary through the halls, she reached over and took Jane's hand. Shock splayed over his features, but he didn't pull away. Lisbon gave him her best coy smile with a mix of mischief as they approached her room, jerking her head toward her door.

She dropped his hand and straightened her expression as O'Leary turned around.

"Good night, Teresa," he said warmly. Even if he knew she couldn't be trusted just yet, it was clear he liked her. He treated her almost like a daughter at times. It was hard to remember that she was here to put him in jail.

Lisbon murmured her good night and let herself into her room.


	7. Sudden Showers

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: This probably would have been up earlier but I got distracted by House reruns. As always, thanks for the reviews and the reads! This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write, not so much for what it _is_...but for what it _isn't_. This is where things start going M...er south. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 7-Sudden Showers  
**

It was only a matter of minutes before a quiet knock sounded on her door.

Patrick Jane filled the doorway, wearing a wolf-like smile. Lisbon steeled herself, knowing she was going to have to deal with the aftermath of her actions tonight.

Mentally bracing herself, she seized the front of his shirt and pulled him inside the room.

Her lips crushed into his, and whether or not he was surprised, he responded with a force that caused her eyes to widen briefly. As she backed into the room, dragging him with her, he kicked the door closed. She broke the kiss, exposing her neck to him, and he took advantage, his lips moving down the tender area of her throat. Jane's face was rough. He obviously hadn't shaved this morning, and she felt her body responding to his ministrations against her will. Pressure built in her abdomen and her skin tingled. She berated herself for getting caught up in the moment.

"Bugs in the room," she breathed into his ear. He stopped as that comment registered and she took his earlobe in her teeth, sucking gently. "Bathroom. Shower. We need to talk," she murmured, amused at his jerk of arousal at what she did. He gave her a wry sidelong glance and snaked his hands around her back, grabbing her and pulling her closer.

Lisbon seized his golden hair, redirecting his lips to hers. His hair was incredibly soft, she noticed as she entwined her hands. His tongue darted inside her mouth, and a groan of delight escaped her before she could curb it. She could feel him smile, and she took his lip with her teeth in return, a little harder than she needed to. He seemed to enjoy it, even as she tasted a hint of blood.

They fumbled backwards, and finally Jane broke the kiss. "I need a shower, woman," he growled playfully, loud enough for the bugs to pick up, then slowly, thoroughly kissed her. His hands pulled her against him tightly and they moved over the small of her back, under her shirt, up under her bra strap, and then down along her ribs. She found herself lightheaded when he broke it, and he grinned at her breathless expression. "Now."

She hurriedly pushed his jacket off his shoulders as their lips met again, then slid her own jacket off. His vest was discarded as they closed themselves in the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, Lisbon roughly pulled away from him, a hand on his chest to stop him from coming closer, even as he leaned to close the distance between them. He stepped back, a bit offset by her sudden change in behavior, even though he had to know it would be coming. She reached over and turned the shower on, adjusting the shower curtain as she collected herself. Jane leaned against the sink and she closed the lid on the toilet so she could sit. Both were breathing heavily.

"Sorry about that," she whispered, and he moved closer to hear. "Only two reasons for you to come into my bathroom with me, and that is to take a shower together or share information without being heard. I've found bugs all over my room, and I'm sure they're in yours, so be careful. He's even got a video camera out there, sick bastard."

"You seemed to be enjoying that, Lisbon," he commented lightly.

She scowled at his irritating smile, primarily because he was right. "Well, I hope you're up to acting a little longer, because we'll have to continue this performance after our 'shower'. And don't get any ideas. We're acting, not actually doing it. Got it?"

He looked like a boy on Christmas. "Of course, Lisbon."

"I'm watched too closely, but you might be able to—" she stood and beat on the wall of the shower a few times, as if they were bumping around in the shower. "—get word to the team. My plan is to tie Monaghan to a hit, where we can hopefully set a trap. Unfortunately, its impossible to tie him directly to anything, since he's got us doing it all." She barked a bitter laugh. "But if I can get him planning one, and have a team to back me up when its time for the arrest, we might get lucky."

Lisbon dropped back down on the closed toilet with a small sigh. "I think he's going to try and off Cardone, and he'll likely have me do it. If that's the case, we can set him up, but Cho needs to be informed so he can help me set the trap before I'm forced to choose between myself and Cardone. If all else fails, I can tie him to a drug deal, but I'd like to get him on something a little more substantial. If you can get away, or get a message to Cho or one of the others, I need you to do it. Okay?"

Jane's face was serious. "I understand, Lisbon. Are you doing okay?"

She realized, as he asked that, how stressed she was, how afraid she was. She fought to keep her voice steady, but she knew he saw it, even as she looked down at the floor. "I'm fine, Jane. Thanks for coming after me, even though it stood a good chance of getting us both killed."

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm on your side, Lisbon. We'll get out of this, don't worry."

She sat silent for a moment, trying to keep from crying. The tears had appeared suddenly, her throat constricting with emotion. She hadn't cried in years. Lisbon fought the seemingly irrational emotion on her part, but she knew what it was. Two years of undercover work, of doing things that she detested, working for people who stood for everything she was against. She had been so very alone.

Some days, she wondered if it hadn't ruined her as a cop, or as a person. She'd put Halloway down like a rabid dog, without a concern about whether there was a more difficult option that might have left him alive. Would she have done that two years ago? Would she have taken that shot at Van Pelt, risked killing her like she had? Every time she thought about it, she saw Van Pelt dead on the ground, chest covered in blood. It made her sick to her stomach just thinking about it, and she swallowed, blinking rapidly to keep tears contained.

Jane's hand tightened on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. Her hand was over his, grasping it like it was driftwood at sea. She quickly dropped her hand into her lap, embarrassed. Lisbon took deep, slow breaths, trying to clear her mind and collect herself. Finally under control, she noted that he'd witnessed her mini-breakdown, but said nothing. For once in his life, Patrick Jane was blessedly silent.

"Thanks, Jane," she said softly after a long moment.

He nodded. "You ready for the rest of this?"

Lisbon sighed. "I guess."

Pretending it didn't bother her, she quickly stripped off everything but her underwear and her bra and hopped into the warm water. Hopefully her bra would dry before tomorrow, she thought absently as Jane followed suit. It was the only one she'd brought with her. She realized that Jane probably had nothing but the clothes he was wearing.

Jane hopped in the shower with his boxers on, and they both soaked fully, hair and everything. The entire ordeal was full of polite apologies and awkward silence. Lisbon grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, and Jane did the same. "Ready?" she asked, tucking a corner of hers in beneath her arm.

"As ever."

He let her initiate, and she did, one arm holding her towel, the other in his hair, pulling him down to her. Drops of water rained down on them from the tips of his hair. Their lips were warm, her face wet against his. He fumbled for the door, finally opening it, and she slowly lead him to the bed.

Slipping under the covers, they ditched their towels, left only in their wet undergarments. She shivered slightly—the room was cold, and Jane rolled on top of her, pulling the covers almost up to his neck.

It was time to see how good of an actor Jane was.

* * *

"This is pretty good stuff," Colin Faraday said wryly, watching the camera placed in Lisbon's room. "Almost as good as watching porn, yeah?" They'd just come out of the shower, and Faraday leaned forward eagerly, watching the couple discard their towels and get into Lisbon's bed.

Faraday was young, just over twenty. John O'Teale, the man occupying the security room with him, was nearly old enough to be his grandfather. "Too dark," he grunted. "Never would have pegged her for fancying that lad."

"She needs a good Irish man," Faraday grumbled, shifting uneasily as things began to heat up. "Not that wee blonde idiot."

"The Chief will handle that, you know," O'Teale stated sturdily, unaffected by the sounds of what appeared to be very passionate love-making. "No matter how good she is w' a gun, he'll find her a good Irish husband who can keep her in line. She's a strong-hea'd lass, after all."

"I, uh," Faraday stood suddenly, making for the door. "I'll be right back."

O'Teale chuckled at his young companion's plight as sounds of pleasure increased in both occurrence and volume. Oh, to be young again.

* * *

As they both lay panting with exertion, Lisbon tried to shove down the things her body was telling her. It had been a very long time since she'd been in a relationship, much less taken it as far as she was portraying tonight. An ache of loneliness settled on her chest at the thought and she felt more alone tonight, laying next to a nearly naked Patrick Jane, than she ever had in memorable history.

Stinging tears suddenly came to her eyes and she rolled over on her side, facing away from him.

Suddenly, she felt his warm hand on her bare shoulder, and she started. "Hey," he whispered. Lisbon looked over her shoulder at him. He brushed her dark, tangled hair off her cheek with his outstretched hand, then patted his shoulder. "Come here. I promise I'll be good."

Lisbon hesitated. Every inch of her tingled with desire, but at the same time, her stomach clenched with dread. Jane was attractive, and her body was just responding to that, she told herself. She could control herself.

"Gonna look odd if we sleep on opposite sides of the bed," he pointed out softly, all too aware of the bugs in the room. She could barely hear him, even two feet away. "And I'm cold, thanks to you."

He had a point, she ceded. Lisbon scooted over and cautiously curled up against his side as he lay on his back, still breathing heavier than usual. His body was warm from the effort, but she didn't call him on the lie. She _was_ cold.

Jane closed his arm around her and she tried to push away the conflicting emotions swirling in her mind. His thumb gently massaged her shoulder in circles. She glanced up at him and saw that he was absently staring at the ceiling, his blue eyes wide open. Those eyes were so unguarded right now, it made her heart clench. Was he thinking of his wife now? Thinking of a love lost? Or was he thinking about now?

He seemed to suddenly realize that she was watching him, and smiled, giving her a quick squeeze as if he knew what she was thinking. Maybe he did.

It was strangely comforting to lay next to him and she found herself drifting off. She finally situated her head on his chest with a small sigh, tucking underneath his chin. His arm tightened around her. Lisbon rested her hand on his bare chest, and she slowly slipped into a pleasant, contented sleep.

* * *

Lisbon woke to find her back against Jane's chest, his warm breath soft on her hair. His arms were wrapped around her and he was sound asleep. Holding as still as possible, she glanced at the clock. Seven a.m. For the first time in a long time, she let herself relax and fall back into a light sleep, lulled to sleep by Jane's even breathing and his warm body wrapped around hers.

Hours later, through her doze, she felt Jane tense for a moment as he woke, then relax. He must have not remembered the night before on waking.

"Mornin'," she said fuzzily.

"G'morning, Lisbon," he returned, not much more awake. "Wow, it's late."

Cracking an eye open, she peered at the clock. Nine a.m. "I haven't slept this late since…forever," she murmured.

"You think they missed us at breakfast?" he asked. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Oh, I hope so," she said, then yawned widely, stretching her body against his.

"I guess we should get up," he said, almost disappointed.

"Yeah," she agreed, but neither of them moved. Finally, Lisbon groaned and rolled away from him, pulling the covers more firmly around herself. "You go ahead and take a shower if you want. I'll go second."

"As if I want another shower," he muttered teasingly. He reached out and grabbed his towel off the floor anyway, quickly pulling it around himself. "You just want to stay in bed longer."

"Never," Lisbon denied. She put a hand to her hopelessly tangled hair and sighed. "Okay, maybe. I'm putting off dealing with this hair."

"Yeah, yeah."

Lisbon listened to the shower run, slowly waking up. She missed his warmth next to her, and chastised herself. It was something that couldn't—shouldn't happen. If they ever got out of this, it would make work exceedingly uncomfortable, for her at least. She wasn't sure on all the policies, but she did know that two people romantically involved on the same team was historically a bad idea.

Pushing aside the irritating reminder that she allowed Rigsby and Van Pelt to do what they wanted—and had to admit that she approved of the match, in general—she grabbed her own towel as the shower stopped. Jane came out, wearing his clothes from yesterday.

"I'll, um…I'll see you at breakfast I guess," Lisbon said quickly, brushing past him into the bathroom. She didn't hear his answer as she turned the water on.

* * *

Jane was already at the table, along with O'Leary and Hennessy, when she arrived, and she gave him a small but meaningful smile. However unfulfilled last night had left her, she knew she had to give the appearance that she'd had a great night. Thinking back on his kisses, falling asleep next to him, and waking up in his arms distracted her as she automatically went through the motions of putting cream cheese on a bagel.

"Teresa?" The voice broke through her daydreaming.

"Oh, sorry, I was…thinking," she told O'Leary, who had a hard time hiding a grin. She felt herself redden slightly as she sat down.

"Mr. Monaghan wants to meet with you in his study after you have eaten," he reported.

She nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered around her stomach. "I hope I haven't kept him waiting too long."

O'Leary's expression was amused. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. I think he understands. He also wanted me to tell Patrick here that he can move into your room if he wants. Much easier on the maids."

Her glance darted to Jane, who stifled a grin. She knew her cheeks were fully blushed now, and she took a sudden sip of coffee to cover her embarrassment.

"Better take good care of that girl, Mr. Jane," Hennessy grumped, his eyes still on the newspaper he'd been reading. "Or I do believe Jamie here will break your legs."

* * *

Monaghan looked up from his desk when Lisbon entered. "Come in, come in, Teresa," he murmured, pushing papers aside. "Have a seat."

She settled into one of the cushy chairs in front of his desk, trying not to let her nerves show.

"You know why you're here, right?" he asked finally, gazing at her with those arresting blue eyes. Even though he was her father's age, he was still a handsome man.

She shrugged casually. "I'm assuming you have a job for me."

"I do. But this is a special job. An initiation, you might say."

Her heart seemed to miss a beat, but she didn't speak, just waited for him to detail the plans.

* * *

Cho was anxious as he waited for Minelli to return from lunch. He'd already slipped into his boss' office to check his schedule for today, and he was supposed to be back twenty minutes ago. Finally, Minelli appeared in the elevator and his gaze locked on Cho as he strode down the hallway.

He pushed open his door and Cho followed him in, shutting the door.

"Jane made contact with me, sir," Cho said without premise. "They're planning something for tonight, after dinner. Lisbon's initiation. She told Jane she thinks it's a cop, maybe Cardone."

Minelli scowled. "So that's where he's been. Damn him to hell," he cursed.

"Yes, sir," Cho murmured. "What should we do?"

The older man's eyes lifted to Cho's. "We? _You_ are not even supposed to know about this. I can only assume Jane told you."

"I would have found it on my own, sir. I know Lisbon. She's not a dirty cop." Cho spoke forcefully, and Minelli seemed slightly taken aback at seeing even the slightest emotion from Cho.

He grunted. "Does Cardone know?"

"I was leaving that up to you, sir. I don't know how in the loop he is."

"He's not," Minelli grumbled. "I'll deal with it. Do you know where she is?"

Cho nodded. "Yes, sir."


	8. Blood Rites

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: Hope you liked the last chapter. Thanks for any and all reviews! This chapter is a bit dicey with lots of violence, some strong language, and rape themes, so if you have objections to it, I recommend you stop now. It's a long chapter, but as you will see, there was no good place to stop it.

* * *

**Chapter 8-Blood Rites**

Matt Cardone had been working Organized Crime for seven years. He was almost thirty-five, still single, and was a cop's cop. On first glance, most cops—male cops anyway—would consider him the luckiest guy around, considering that his partner was sexier than Salma Hayek and smarter than Stephen Hawking. He was, but not for the reasons they thought. While his partner was crazy, and just as likely to shoot you as say hello, she was fiercely loyal and very good at what she did. He would have felt the same about her if she looked like a Valkyrie and had a mustache.

Which is why he wasn't overly worried, even when he was bound to a chair in a dark, dank room. He'd been attacked, knocked out, and now had two young toughs guarding him. But he wasn't worried. Even if Cho didn't pull through—and Cho was a good cop—he knew that Lee would. She'd gotten him out of tighter scrapes than this.

Two older men had been here earlier. One, a retired cop if he ever saw one, gleefully told him that Lisbon was going to come kill him. He'd been a little skeptical that this was actually going down when Minelli had briefed him, and more than a bit angry that Minelli had gone over his head to place Lisbon here, but he saw the sense of it. The least he could do after his years on this organization was play a key part. So he waited, and endured a moderate beating from aforementioned toughs.

But then a kid came in, whispering to the old cop. Something had changed. They glanced at Cardone, and the two older men left with a stern warning to the others. Don't kill him. Yet.

Things were going to hell, he knew. He willed Lee to get her skinny ass here quickly, before the CBI lost a couple of their own.

* * *

Jane flexed, but it did no good. He was fastened tightly in a rather structurally-sound chair. O'Leary and Hennessy stood by. Hennessy was smoking, while O'Leary watched him idly. He knew Jane wasn't going anywhere.

Jane wasn't really sure how he'd gotten to this point. One minute he's having dinner with the boys, the next he's strapped to a chair, waiting for Monaghan, he assumed.

He wasn't normally the fatalistic sort. Jane didn't give up just because he was tied up. However, at this point, he was in the personal residence of the head of the Irish mob in Sacramento. He was restrained with very secure knots. Apparently, he'd been found out. His discreet phone call today had not gone unnoticed.

Strangely, he had no fear for himself, though he knew he was going to die. Fear for Lisbon pushed almost every thought out of his head. If he was compromised, was she? Would the team get here before one or both of them was killed?

Even now, as he had all day, he thought back to the night before. Lisbon was far more complicated—and daring—than he'd ever given her credit for. Backed into a corner, she would do whatever necessary to get the job done, even demonstrate a side of her that she kept firmly under lock and key at all times. He wondered how much of that was real, and how much she'd conjured for the situation.

He'd been too distracted last night to focus, but as he reviewed the night—something he had done several times today—he saw something he was sure he'd never seen before: Teresa Lisbon, the woman. It wasn't when they kissed, nor when he looked into her startling green eyes as he braced himself over her small body. No, it was when they sat in the bathroom, his hand on her shoulder as she fought back tears, when she grasped his hand like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. It was when she tucked herself in against him like she belonged there.

That had startled him. Not that it happened, but that it was so natural. He felt a hopelessness that after this, if they got out alive, that he would only ever see Lisbon the cop again.

In general, Jane thought fairly poorly of the human species. It was people like Teresa Lisbon that made him love what he did, drove him to have to understand people as he did. He didn't do it because he liked to show off, though he did often, nor did he do it to pry into people's lives, though he often was guilty of that too.

The true reason he sought to understand every action and every word was to get a glimpse of those rare individuals who, like Lisbon, hid in plain sight. These people who outwardly appeared normal and happy often were very different in their private lives. There was something deeper, something a little darker, that drew him to these people. These were people who gave of themselves to benefit the rest of society, who were glad to die for people they'd never met.

They were the people who made a difference. He wanted to understand them, wanted to see their true person, unguarded and without pretense. He hungered for it.

The object of his thoughts walked through the door like she owned the room, but something in her stance, in her eyes, told him that she was afraid. Monaghan followed her in. Her eyes showed—only for an instant—an inkling of panic at the sight of him. She wasn't expecting it to be Jane. Those eyes hardened to emeralds as she strode to the middle of the room.

"We don't normally employ women—you know this," Monaghan said softly, moving to a table near Jane. "But there some women who are rare individuals and capable of doing the job required."

His gaze found her as he picked up a knife and slowly made a long slice in his palm, then handed her the knife. After a moment's hesitation, she did the same. Her face remained impassive as she did so, Jane saw with no surprise. She handed the knife back to him and he tucked the bloody thing in his belt.

Monaghan held his hand up and Lisbon's joined him. He said a few words in another language—Irish Gaelic, he assumed—and she responded in a strong, confident voice. It was odd to hear her voice speak Gaelic. It was entrancing, and Jane felt as if he'd gone back in time, with her green eyes blazing, the strange language filling the air, her dark hair framing her pale face. He slowed his rapid breathing and closed his eyes, listening silently to her grimly determined voice.

* * *

As Lisbon swore her oath to Monaghan, her mind raced. This was not what she expected, and wasn't when she expected it. She hardly noticed the stinging in her hand as red blood ran down their arm, hers mixing with his. It was a rite of symbolic joining of blood, a custom that very few cultures had practiced in centuries. Monaghan certainly had a flair for the dramatic. A rite of blood, blessed by God. She felt sick.

She was a part of the family now. "_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spirtus Sancti_," they finished together in what was nearly a whisper, then both crossed themselves in near harmony. _"Amen."_

"He betrayed you. And me," Monaghan said quietly when they had finished.

Lisbon nodded solemnly, ignoring the blood on her right palm and arm. She turned to Jane, his blue eyes immediately taking hers. For once, his voice was silent, but she could still read his eyes. It was almost too much, and she closed her eyes against his intense gaze. Her mind raced back to Halloway and Van Pelt, bile rising in her throat.

Her eyes snapped open, and she steeled herself, pulling on the persona that she had to be. She had only one choice that made sense, and she looked back to those eyes, drawing the strength she would need.

Her hand slowly took her gun, but she didn't raise it. Blood dripped down the barrel and she ignored it. She knew that O'Leary and Hennessy both had their hands on their own weapons. O'Leary's was at his side, she had seen, and Hennessy still had his holstered, but was ready to draw. They were trying to be subtle, but didn't feel the need to be overly so. She wasn't trusted yet, but they knew her, knew her mind, or so they thought.

Lisbon took a step toward Jane, her heart racing. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was too early, the wrong person. Things were spinning out of her control. The room was silent, holding its breath, waiting for her to act.

"You lied to me," Lisbon said finally.

Jane just cocked his head. He didn't seem afraid. For a brief second, she could almost feel his embrace, his arms around her, his comforting hand on her shoulder. Lisbon pushed them away violently. She couldn't dwell on that.

She realized that she'd hit him, his eyes blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Her blood stained his golden hair where her gun had connected with his skull.

His head craned back as she moved just in front of him, his eyes struggling to focus. He looked wary now. She gazed down at him, her face full of anger.

Suddenly, she brought her left foot up on the chair, between his legs, and he couldn't hold back a yelp, though it was more from fear than pain. She'd missed the most sensitive areas.

"Go to hell, Jane," she hissed, her voice dripping with hate. One choice, or no choice. They were the same. She had to kill him.

Lisbon's hand flew to her raised leg, and a gun appeared in her left hand. Almost simultaneously, her leg dropped and she pulled her toes up under the front of the chair, flipping the chair over backwards. Jane huffed as the force knocked the wind out of him. A choice. She had to kill Monaghan because it was the only way to save Jane. No choice at all.

She brought both weapons to bear, intent on drawing fire away from Jane's location. Noise exploded into the room, and she barely felt the kick of her weapons as she sought her targets. One bullet punched into Hennessy's chest and the man collapsed even as she took her first step. Monaghan and O'Leary dove for cover, though she thought she may have nicked O'Leary.

A blaze of pain in her chest nearly dropped her she took her second step to the right. She collapsed to a knee beside the heavy oak desk she was near. It was mostly to the left of her chest, near her heart. She assumed that since she wasn't dead that it had missed that vital organ, but breathing was difficult and the pain was intense. Her lung, maybe. Adrenaline overrode the pain as bullets pinged into the wall behind her. Scrambling around the desk, Lisbon brought both weapons up, as painful as it was.

O'Leary had his own weapon trained on her, but she had one each on him and Monaghan.

"It's over, Monaghan," she rasped, straightening painfully. Fury burned in her eyes, and her dark hair was in disarray. Blood leaked from the wound in her shoulder, bubbling slightly, though it was difficult to see on the black of her shirt. She forced her self to stand tall, her chin up in defiance. "I suggest you stand down before I kill you both."

She felt dizzy, and breathing was not easy. Lisbon made herself focus, let her rage and anger flow freely to continue to propel adrenaline.

"Why, Teresa?" Monaghan said finally, his hands in the air. He straightened slowly. "Why do you insist on being a slave?"

O'Leary twitched.

"Put the fucking weapon down, O'Leary!" Lisbon demanded hoarsely, her voice strained. Her wild eyes made it clear that she was on the verge of losing control. "Put it down before I put a bullet in your boss!"

"I'll still put one in you," he noted, not backing down.

Her eyes flicked from Monaghan to him. "You think I fucking care at this point, O'Leary?" she snarled. "Now. Put—it—down." Her voice was quieter now, but it was controlled and cold. She had to buy time. At this point, she could easily be overpowered, gun or no gun. Cho should be here any minute, she just had to keep them occupied till then.

O'Leary slowly lowered the weapon to the ground and kicked it away, his hands coming up.

"There you go, Jamie," she murmured. "First good choice I've known you to make."

Monaghan shook his head, as if he were disappointed in her, and sighed.

Lisbon studied him for a moment, and the room was silent except for her labored breathing. "You claimed to want to save Ireland, yet you destroyed it here. You're a pathetic hypocrite. Nothing more than a glorified drug dealer."

Monaghan's face darkened. "I sent money back to the movements dedicated to Irish independence! How dare you—"

"What about my father?" she broke in with a snarl. "You destroyed him! Made him a criminal! You killed my mother!" Rage seemed to be all that held her up. She took a step toward him.

"I didn't kill your mother. A drunk—"

He was interrupted by Lisbon laughing. He seemed surprised. Jane rarely heard her laugh out loud, but this was not one of those rare delighted laughs he got occasionally from her, nor the polite laugh she used in her professional arena. It was a laugh dripping with disdain and scorn.

"Bryan Kerrigan," she said finally, her face darkening as her black humor died. "A good Irish man with some bad debts. He became your man by killing my mother, didn't he?"

Monaghan chuckled. "Quite an imagination you have, Teresa."

Lisbon's grip tightened on her weapons, her face full of righteous fury. "I don't need one, Monaghan. I visited Kerrigan before he died. His liver gave out. Is that surprising? Kerrigan's kids had a rough time of it too. Abuse caused by drugs, alcohol, anything to take his mind off killing an innocent woman for you."

She gestured with her guns, and both men watched them more than her as she directed them back against a wall. "How do you feel about a whole generation of Irish-Americans who suffered by your hand? Who grew up without parents because of you? Shuffled from foster home to foster home to be beaten and abused? Is that how to care for your kin, for your fellow Irishmen?"

To Jane, she looked like a queen calling down judgment on wicked men. He had never seen such a display of indignant and righteous anger from her. "Do you really think it is any different in our generation, caused by an Irishman instead of the English?" She shook her head in disgust. "You are a revolting man, Monaghan, and I—"

Her eyes widened as a cough seized her, as air left her lungs, and her knees nearly buckled. Lisbon saw O'Leary go for his gun, as if in slow motion. A flurry of loud booms sounded in her ears as she dropped to her knees.

Gasping painfully for breath, she found herself on her hands and knees, her weapons flat on the floor, but still in her grip. She hung her head, unable to summon the power to lift it, and she saw blood dripping beneath her. She felt as if she were in a movie, an old western, maybe. Dodge City was silent, but the sulfuric smell of gunpowder drifted through the still room. Her thigh hurt, and she knew she'd been hit again. It was hard to tell, but she thought it was only a graze.

Mustering the strength to look up, Lisbon saw O'Leary sprawled on the floor where her bullet had taken him. Her gut seized when her eyes focused on Monaghan, O'Leary's gun in hand.

"Push them away, Teresa," he ordered quietly. "Now."

After a moment's hesitation, she did so, and they clattered across the hardwood floor.

"Get up," he told her briskly.

"Fuck you," she managed. Her tone was haughty, defiant.

Monaghan took a quick step toward her and seized her hair, his blue eyes intent on hers as he wrenched her neck back painfully. "Get. Up."

Lisbon was barely able to get her feet under her, but she did, standing unsteadily. She knew her eyes were glazed over with pain and dizziness, but she struggled to maintain a glare.

Monaghan circled behind her, and she felt his body against hers, his grip firm on her injured left shoulder, keeping her against him. She winced at his experimental touch.

"Never trust women," he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing lightly against her hair. His gun was in his right hand, against her cheek. "It is a policy worth holding to." He chuckled. "That's not to say that we should reject their very useful qualities though."

He still had her hair as he tucked the weapon into his belt. Lisbon made a small noise when she felt the blade of a knife at her throat. "Hold still, Teresa, or I'll slit your throat right here."

Monaghan prodded her over near where Jane lay, still tied to the chair, his head up trying to see her. He looked unharmed. His eyes were full of anger and concern, and maybe panic. She couldn't tell.

The knife left her neck and slid down through the buttons of her shirt, severing them. She shuddered at the sudden pain. Blood welled up on her chest where the knife had contacted, and panic rose inside. Still behind her, Monaghan's left hand fumbled at her pants, unbuckling her belt and unfastening her jeans. She struggled, but the knife was back at her neck, and she felt a thin stream of blood drip down her chest. She froze, unwilling to cut her own neck.

He suddenly pushed her down to the ground on her stomach, a knee in her back. Monaghan took her left arm and wrenched it out to her side. Lisbon let out a hoarse cry as the violent movement sent agony through her shoulder.

Suddenly, the knife flew down through the back of her hand to embed into the floor beneath her. Her breath left her, and she was unable to scream. Excruciating pain radiated from her hand and she finally let out a small noise that was more of a shuddering sigh than a groan. Black formed on the edges of her vision, but she fought to remain conscious.

She couldn't breathe with the weight of the large man on her back and at this moment, she knew she was going to die. He was going to rape her and she was going to die. Strangely, Lisbon found that she was looking forward to ending this once and for all, to ending the pain and the fear and the duty.

"I won't give you the honor of raping you like a woman," Monaghan said in her ear. "You betrayed me. You deserve the worst humiliation possible, and I will give it to you." His lips touched her ear as he wrenched her neck back painfully, pulled her chest up off the ground. She made small gasps for air through the thick haze of pain, almost unaware of him lustfully grasping her breasts under her bra. His teeth sunk into her neck and she heard a whimper. It took a moment to recognize her own sounds of pain.

"Lisbon!" Jane panted as he tried to escape, to come help her. She was facing him, could see him, she realized. _Sorry, Jane. Patrick. Sorry I got us killed_, she thought as she held his blue eyes with hers, briefly. Her body relaxed at the sight of him, despite his agonized expression. She couldn't fight it.

Teresa Lisbon gave up. She released herself to the black, and it slowly closed in on her vision.

Monaghan shoved her head back to the floor, the harsh impact stunning her.

"Lisbon! Teresa!" Jane's voice was as panicked as she thought she'd ever heard. He was distant now. _Goodbye, Patrick Jane._

"I'll give you the same I gave your mother when she got above herself," Monaghan whispered as his hands moved to the waistband of her jeans, shifting to straddle her. It was as if a light turned on in her mind, a mental image of her mother, of her tears, of her fights with her father, of her fragility toward the end. She'd never realized. The black receded at the shock.

Something inside snapped. For the first time in her life, Teresa Lisbon did something without thinking, without caring about the consequences, without remorse, and completely for herself. Rules didn't matter. There was no mercy, no Miranda rights, and no law but her own. She had one goal, and she would reach it, no matter the cost.

She threw her head back, connecting with his nose. Adrenaline coursed through her as he reeled back, blood spurting over both of them. She reached over with her good arm to wrench the knife out of her hand. It was someone else's hand. It hurt, but she wasn't concerned about what happened to someone else's hand.

Lisbon twisted to the side, somehow regaining her feet, blood-covered knife raised. Monaghan reached for her with a wordless roar, and knocked the knife from her grip, sending it spinning across the room.

His arm caught her and her back connected with the wall, near a window. Lisbon struggled for purchase and she grasped a handful of curtains to keep herself upright. They crashed to the ground beside her and Monaghan charged her, rage on his face.

She rolled aside for the brunt of his attack and came to a knee. Lisbon sprang up, launching herself at him, and bowled him over onto his back. She landed with one knee in his sternum, the other braced to the side, her hand on his neck.

Strangely, Monaghan grinned, but didn't struggle. "This is a pleasant surprise. Treating me instead, Teresa?" he leered, a bit breathlessly through the blood streaming from his nose. He seemed confidant, in control.

Lisbon seized his chin and forehead, and he began to struggle, familiar with the hold. She was in control now. His life was hers.

"_Éirinn go Brách,_" she whispered. His eyes widened with panic.

A quick jerk and his neck snapped. The blue in his eyes dimmed, then became lifeless. His raised hands fell, and she dropped his head to the floor with a thump.

Exhaustion washed over her and she slowly, unsteadily stood. Her hand went to the crucifix on her neck of its own accord, and then on impulse, she crossed herself. This nightmare had finally ended.

Letting her left arm fall useless to the side, Lisbon absently fumbled to refasten her pants with her right hand. Her shirt hung loosely on her, the front gaping open. She pulled at her bra to cover her fully, but there was nothing to do with her shirt. She left it.

As adrenaline faded, every pain, every injury returned at full force. She stumbled back from the body before her and turned toward the doorway.

Cho and Rigsby had their weapons out, as did Lee. The female agent had Cardone on her other arm, and he looked roughed up. They were simply staring at her, though she saw approval in Lee's eyes. The rest seemed to be in shock.

Van Pelt was near Jane, and had him untied. Her face was white. Jane's expression was serious, and she realized that his face was wet with tears.

She took a step toward them, but it was as if the floor dropped out from under her. Her legs refused to hold weight, and she collapsed.

Cho was by her side in a heartbeat, catching her before her head hit the ground. Jane was suddenly there as well, and they carefully lowered her into a prone position.

"Van Pelt," Cho said authoritatively. The younger agent apparently knew what he wanted, and Lisbon likely would have too, if she was able to focus.

"Rest of the house is clear, Cho," Lee reported. "We're going to get started on processing."

Cho nodded, then turned to Rigsby. "Get out front and be ready to lead the EMTs in."

Rigsby nodded and raced back out the door.

Jane almost jumped when Lisbon found his hand and gripped it tightly. Her eyes were closed, but she was obviously conscious as she focused on breathing, focused on controlling the pain.

"I really…fucked up, Cho," she whispered bleakly, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Her eyes opened, focusing on Jane. "Almost got you killed. I'm sorry."

Cho pressed his hand down on her shoulder wound, leaning his weight into it.. "You did what you had to do, Boss. Bad guy is dead, we're still alive. That's a win in my book."

Her lips compressed and a few tears leaked from her shining eyes, but she didn't make any noise as he tried to make a seal on the wound with his hand.

"EMTs have a five minute ETA, Cho," Van Pelt reported. Her face turned a shade lighter, though it didn't seem possible, as she approached them. Lisbon's flat stomach was nearly red with blood, and her ripped pants showed where another bullet had torn through her flesh. Jane released her hand to attend to the wound, but she tightened her grip on him. "Please, Jane," she begged in a small whisper. Her skin was ashen, almost blue-tinged, her breathing rapid and shallow.

"I got it," Van Pelt said faintly, and she grabbed the curtain that had been torn down in the fight, pressing it tightly against the wound. Lisbon's grip tightened on Jane's hand at the pain, but only a brief intake of air showed her discomfort.

"Sorry I shot you, Grace," Lisbon murmured after a moment. "Real sorry."

"It's okay, Boss," Van Pelt said quietly. "I'm fine."

Jane leaned over her, and her eyes struggled to focus on him. "Stop apologizing like it's the last chance you'll get. Just shut up, focus on breathing, and you can apologize to everyone later," he told her irritably. He couldn't keep the worry from his voice.

"You're a real…asshole…you know that?" she managed dryly, but fell silent.

Suddenly, her grip loosened, and her eyelids relaxed, closing.

"Lisbon?" Jane asked, an edge of panic in his voice as he leaned over her. "Teresa?"

His ear near her mouth, he looked over her chest for the familiar rise and fall. He didn't see it.

"She's not breathing," he bit out, dropping her hand. Jane put his lips to Lisbon's, pushing air into her lungs. Nothing. He glanced at Cho, who was still holding his hand over her wound. Cho leaned over her further, putting more of his weight on it. Jane breathed again.

She coughed suddenly, her eyes blinking rapidly. Jane's blue eyes frantically searched her face, making sure she was okay.

"Your face is…uncomfortably close," she finally breathed.

Jane didn't pull back, but smiled. "That's what happens when you stop breathing. If you don't like it, I suggest you keep breathing."

She didn't have the energy to argue as she did just that.

Paramedics arrived, hurriedly hooking up IVs, putting an oxygen mask over her face, and loading her onto the backboard.

"Jane, go with her," Cho ordered. "I'll follow. Where are you guys taking her?" he asked a nearby paramedic.

"Methodist," the man answered briskly, following his colleagues out the door. Jane jogged behind them.

"Rigsby, Van Pelt, stay here until Lee gets a few of her guys down here, then go file a report with Minelli. Go get some sleep, and I'll call you if something happens."

Rigsby shook his head. "We'll be up there after we file with Minelli." Van Pelt nodded her agreement.

Cho gave them a solemn nod, then followed the paramedics out.


	9. As Easy As Breathing

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: I'm glad you all liked the last chapter! Thanks for the reviews...I had no clue how well that chapter would go over, and I now feel like I'm going to have a tough time outdoing it! The next few chapters may be up a little slower, just depending on how much time I get this weekend. I haven't spent nearly as much time on them as I have on the first eight, and they need some reviewing. But I'll get them up as fast as possible! Your reviews keep me working harder!

Also, as far as I know, the names of Jane's wife and daughter have never been mentioned. If that's incorrect, please inform me.

And, as they say, on with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 9-As Easy as Breathing**

Faces appeared above her, strange ones, people she didn't know. Her hand tightened on Jane's and she turned her head slightly to the right. He was still there, smiling tightly at her.

A mask was pushed over her mouth and nose, obscuring her line of vision. She felt a painful prick in her arm, which she thought ironic. A bee sting compared to a gunshot.

Lisbon felt like she was almost outside her body, distant from things, but something kept her anchored. Jane's hand held hers even as they loaded her onto the backboard. She gave a small groan of pain as they moved her onto it.

The paramedics were talking in what seemed a foreign language to her. She was so tired.

"Stick with me, Lisbon," came Jane's voice, strong and clear through the haze. She focused on that, and that warm handing holding hers. Her eyes fluttered closed.

"She's crashing!"

* * *

Wayne Rigsby would never win any awards for his mental prowess—not that he was stupid, mind you. He did well in school, did well in college and academy. But he was a man of action, a man of physical pursuits. That's why he became a cop. Only after he joined did he realize that being a cop required more than just the physical.

His boss had shown that today, he realized with a sudden flash of insight as he stood over the body of Conway Monaghan. Being undercover required incredible mental and emotional restraint and quick thinking. It required a strength that he didn't know if he had.

"Marines kill that way," a voice said behind him. He turned to see Grace Van Pelt standing behind him, absently rubbing her hands together. Blood flaked off, Lisbon's blood. "My dad showed me once. Wonder where she learned it"

Rigsby looked back to the body. "Breaking their necks?"

Van Pelt stepped forward, kneeling near Monaghan's head. "Forehead, chin," she murmured, pointing. "Snap. It's not easy to set up on someone that much bigger than you."

"You think—" Rigsby stopped himself, his throat constricting. Even though she was his boss, Rigsby had always felt like Lisbon was like the big sister he'd never had, and he admired her. He loved her, in a way, he thought. He knew that she'd be there for him, that no matter what he did, that Lisbon would have his back. Losing her was like losing family.

Van Pelt moved closer to him, her eyes lifted up to his. "I think that if anyone could live through that, it would be the Boss," Van Pelt said decisively, though her voice trembled slightly.

Rigsby found that his voice was thick with emotion. "That was a lot of blood."

"What the hell are you two still doing here?" came an imperious voice from the door. Rigsby spun, his hand automatically going to his gun.

Agent Angela Lee stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. "Your boss is on her way to the hospital, maybe dying, and you two are wasting time here. Get going."

"But Cho—Minelli—" Rigsby stammered.

She crossed her arms. "I don't need you two here, and I'll brief Minelli on anything he needs to know. Get the hell out of my crime scene."

Van Pelt exchanged a glance with Rigsby, and as one, they made for the door. Lee stepped aside to let them pass.

Suddenly, she seized Rigsby's arm and he stopped, turning to look at her.

Lee's face was determined. "Lisbon's tough. Don't you worry about her." She smiled tightly. "Now go."

* * *

Angela Lee scowled at the six men they'd rounded up throughout the estate. Two other CBI agents stood guarding them, guns drawn. Cardone sat against the wall, his eyes closed.

"After all that brave talk," she smirked, stopping in front of him.

"Stop talking. My head hurts."

Lee smiled slyly. "Why do you tell me these things? They only encourage me."

Cardone sighed. "Because I'm hoping that one day you'll grow a heart."

She chuckled and sat down next to him. "You gonna be alright?"

He rested his head against the wall. "I think they broke some ribs." His voice was irritated.

"Can you hang on till Minelli and Meyers get here? I'll take you in and get you checked out."

Cardone nodded and she stood as the medical examiner arrived.

"I hear we have quite the body count," the older man said, pushing his glasses further up on his nose.

"You could say that, Perk," she said dryly. "I'll show you the scene."

Lee led Will Perkins through the house and into the study. "And our lovely Agent Teresa Lisbon was injured?"

She scowled. "She might not make it."

He made a concerned noise in his throat. "That bad?"

Lee pushed open the door to the study. "She took three with her. Let me know if you need anything."

As Perk tsked over the crime scene, Lee studied the room. She'd worked a few cases with Lisbon, and liked her. That in itself was unusual considering that Lee usually didn't get along with other women. Most of them were power hungry and saw injustices where they didn't exist. Most felt that the men in the profession owed them something, or that to get anywhere, you had to reject the feminine aspects of life. Lisbon didn't think like that. Lisbon did her job and did it well, and never held Lee's model-beauty against her, as some women did.

Lee had been shot before, ironically on a case with Lisbon. Lisbon had hauled her bleeding body out of the middle of a gunfight, taking out two shooters on her way. Lee wished she could have repaid that here. She wished she could have done something—anything—to have prevented Lisbon going through what she had. Lisbon was tough, but Lee wasn't sure that there was anyone tough enough to come through what Lisbon had suffered tonight, despite what she'd told Rigsby.

Now there was nothing to do but wait, and irritability rose up in her chest. Lee was not a patient woman.

* * *

Jane sat in the emergency room, blood on his shirt, his wrists bandaged. He'd rubbed them raw trying to get to Lisbon. Cho sat beside him in a white undershirt, blood staining his pants. Lisbon's blood. For once, the other man didn't have a book. He stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts.

He couldn't get the sight out of his head of that moment that he knew that Lisbon had given up. There had been such fear, such panic in her eyes. And then she just quit. The light, the determination, left her eyes. Even the fear and panic had gone. He could see her face go slack. She quit fighting. He'd never known Lisbon to quit fighting, but she had. Her eyes begged for an end. She had been ready to die. She'd said goodbye.

His head ached even as the memories continued to pour through his mind. Lisbon's blow had been hard and he'd been completely unprepared for it. He'd gratefully taken a few over the counter pills offered by a nurse, but they hadn't kicked in yet.

Twice in the ambulance, she had stopped breathing. Her heart had stopped one of those times. Was she still anxious to die? Was there nothing to keep her here now that she had finally had her revenge? Had the experience been too painful? Jane didn't know. For once, he found himself almost wishing he believed in a higher power, so that this could be in the control higher than the hands of men. Someone he could beseech for intervention. Someone to save her.

It was almost worse than what had happened with his wife. He had come home well after something could be done. At Monaghan's, he knew that it could be stopped. Cho needed to walk through that door, or if he could just move his hands a certain way and escape, she would be okay.

Cho knew most of the story. He'd come in the door to see her spine arched painfully back, gasping for breath, terror and panic in her eyes, that bastard's hands on her. Before his gun could come out, she had acted. The rest of the team, along with Lee and Cardone, had watched Lisbon kill Monaghan, unable to fire without risking hitting Lisbon, unsure how to break the battle up without risking further lives, and Jane suspected that most were unwilling to prevent her from exacting her own brand of vengeance on the man. Even Lee's face had whitened at the scene, and Jane thought her to be one of the most unfeeling women he'd ever known.

Jane considered Lisbon's actions after killing Monaghan. She had touched the crucifix around her neck as if to recall something—or someone. Her mother? And then she'd made the sign of the cross. Was it because she had made an oath? Was it because she regretted killing him? Did she fear retribution? He didn't know, but it was an interesting look into the spiritual life of Teresa Lisbon.

Cho had taken some time aside to call one of her brothers. He'd quietly assured the man that Lisbon was a fighter. It had been a hard phone call. Cho reported that her brothers, Brendan and Dominic, were already both on their way. Dominic lived in Los Angeles, and Brendan in Maryland. Both younger than her by at least four years, it was obvious that they were still fiercely loyal to their siblings. As they should be, given that they had only had each other. Cho was just getting off the phone with Minelli for the fourth time in the last two hours.

"Cardone going to be okay?" Jane asked when he'd hung up.

Cho nodded. "He'll be fine. A few broken ribs and a mild concussion. Apparently Hennessy confirmed for him that he was supposed to be Lisbon's target, until they found that you had called me. That moved up the timetable. It was almost too late."

Van Pelt and Rigsby entered then, Rigsby carrying bags for each of them, and Van Pelt carrying food. Jane's stomach rumbled at the reminder.

"Any news?" Van Pelt asked, dropping the food on a small table between the couches.

Cho shook his head. "They said the surgery could last six hours. She's been in there for almost three now."

Cho and Jane took the bags that the other two had collected, changing quickly. Food was distributed out and they ate in silence.

Over an hour later, a couple of doctors approached, and Jane stood. Their faces were serious.

"She made it through the surgery," one said without ado. "Better than we expected. She's stable, but still in critical condition." He was the older doctor, and Jane noticed that his glasses were smudged.

The younger doctor spoke. "As long as she's in the ICU, only one visitor at a time. She's still very fragile."

"Go on, Cho," Jane said without hesitation.

Cho shook his head. "You were there with her. You need to go."

Jane studied him and finally nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "Thanks, man."

* * *

She looked like a child on the white sheets under the sterile light of the hospital room. An IV ran into her right arm, and her left shoulder and both hands were bandaged. She was intubated, the machine helping her breathe steadily. A tube also stuck out from where he knew the bullet hole in her chest was. The cut on her neck was too small to be of any consequence, but it stood out, stark against her pale skin.

The heart monitor beeped constantly, and her chest rose and fell, though it was hardly noticeable. Jane moved to her right side and took her bandaged hand lightly.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. Sighing, he sat in the chair provided.

Jane just started talking. He talked about the job, about their team. Talked about Red John.

He found himself quietly talking about his wife, his little girl. He told her about Ellen, and what she had been like. How Ellen would have loved Lisbon, how Lisbon would have liked her. Picturing the tall, blonde lawyer-gone-full-time-mom as best buds with the tiny, fearless cop made him smile, and he told her that.

His voice cracked a bit when he discussed his daughter, little Evie. Jane told her about taking his daughter to dancing lessons, about how they used to go to the park, about how he bought her ice cream every Friday after she got out of school. So many memories, and he found himself spilling them to her.

As he told her about the pain of losing them, he didn't notice Cho in the doorway, and didn't notice when he left. He told her of his anger, his rage, his guilt. He loathed his own arrogance, and found that he used it now as a satirical commentary on himself.

He drifted to tonight's events, but was uneasy about talking too much about them. He told her that she'd scared the shit out of him, and that should make her happy. "Only for a second, mind you," he murmured, amused. "I thought you were going to kill me."

Jane told her how sorry he was that he couldn't help. "I tried, I really did." He swallowed briefly. "I wish..." he stopped himself. "I just wish. A lot of things."

He sat for a moment, trying to curb his anger at Monaghan, at himself, and at her. He finally gulped a breath and continued.

"I thought I was going to lose you tonight, Lisbon. Teresa," he whispered. "And I don't think I can live through that again."

After a long silence, he broke it, telling her about his childhood. Since he would be meeting her brothers, he figured it was fair. He leaned back in his chair, his hand resting near her arm. He studied her face, brushed back her dark hair, and before he was aware of his exhaustion, he was fast asleep.


	10. The Hard Truth

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: Thanks for the continual reads and reviews! I hope you all like angst, because that's what you'll be getting for a little while yet. Lisbon and Jane have a rough ride ahead of them, but it wouldn't be worth reading if they didn't!

Also, I'm drinking blueberry green tea and it's delicious.

**Chapter 10-The Hard Truth  
**

Nearly a week later, Teresa Lisbon was annoyed. She hurt, a lot, and that didn't help. The worst was her left hand, and she hated thinking of it. She'd rather think of her lung, or the graze to her right hip, but neither of those hurt nearly so much. Just that damn hand. It hadn't done any permanent damage, just muscular, but they said it would take physical therapy to regain full use. She still wore oxygen here at the hospital, but she didn't have the chest tube any longer, which was great. She might have killed someone if she had to walk around with a tube sticking out of her chest.

The person she stood the highest chance of killing was Patrick Jane. Next on her list was Dominic Lisbon, her brother closest in age. The two had hit it off surprisingly well, a fact that terrified her.

Lisbon was still short of breath, but she was going home. She couldn't wait. She hated hospitals more than about anything—she'd spent far too much of her life in and out of them. She just wanted to go home and lay in her expansive bed. Perhaps she'd rent movies and get some ice cream.

That was going to get old though, considering she was off work for at least a month, orders from Minelli as they sorted through this case and finished the FBI investigation. She knew the FBI generally considered organized crime to be their purview if they chose to involve themselves, and they were apparently doing their best to butt into this case.

She sighed inwardly. She'd probably need the month to recover anyway, but what the hell was she going to do with all that spare time? She knew she'd be better off working, even if she was deskbound.

"You should go spend time with your brothers," Jane said with a knowing smile.

She scowled at him, not so much for the idea, but for him reading her thoughts. "Maybe in a few weeks. Or maybe," she said, raising her voice at Dominic's amused snort, "Not at all. Quit humoring him. He's already insufferable." Her tone was irritated. Dom and Brendan were grinning at Jane's perception.

"Are you sure about this, Jane?" Dom said finally. "Brendan and I can arrange our schedules to cover most of it."

"Oh for God's sake, Dom," Lisbon sighed, exasperated. "I'll be just fine by myself. I don't need anyone looking out for me." Her green eyes flashed as they met her brother's blue ones, narrowed in concern.

Jane glanced between the three of them. Both of the brothers were tall, nearly a foot taller than their big sister, with dark hair. Dom had bright blue eyes, while Brendan shared Teresa's green. Dom was thicker, and several inches taller than Brendan, who was obviously the baby of the family. He was almost lithe, and reminded Jane of a large cat of some sort, while Dom was more like a bull. He shifted his gaze to Teresa, who at this very moment looked the image of a hawk.

"It'll be fun, Lisbon," Jane said with a grin. "We'll eat ice cream and watch old movies."

Lisbon just stared at him, trying to figure out how to get him close enough to slap. Finally she decided that the best course of action was to ignore him.

"You were shot, sis," Brendan said gently. "Twice. And stabbed. You had a traumatic encounter, and we'd feel more comfortable if someone we trust was with you. Both your hands are still healing, and it'd just be better on us all if someone was able to help you for a few days or so. If you'd rather us than Jane—"

She sighed and waved her bandaged right hand. "No, no, Bren, it's not that. I just hate wasting everyone's time. I really will be fine."

"Like I'm going to go hang out at CBI without you," Jane replied dryly. "I've got nothing else to do, and I'm independently wealthy. It helps you and your brothers out. I'm glad to do it. Plus, I owe you my life. That's a few debts to pay off."

She studied him, slightly surprised at his serious answer. "Alright," she said finally. "But only for a few days, alright?" Lisbon turned what Jane considered her "boss" look on her brothers. He realized now it was the "mom/older-sister" look as well. "If I'm going to have a month off work, I'm going to have some of it in peace and quiet," she grumbled. Jane just grinned at her.

A nurse entered with a wheelchair, and she smiled slyly at Dom, who ignored her. The wedding ring on his hand didn't seem to matter to her—she'd been flirting with the poor man since he'd arrived. She was pretty enough, Jane mused, but Nurse Penick was young and foolish.

"Are you ready to go, Agent Lisbon?" she asked stiffly, a little hurt by Dom's cold shoulder.

"As ever," Lisbon replied gratefully. She slid her feet off the bed and stood unsteadily. Jane's firm grip was on her arm before she realized she was a little dizzy, and he gave her an encouraging smile as he helped her into the chair. The whole thing was unsettling to her, and it had nothing to do with almost falling on her face and everything to do with that dazzling smile.

* * *

It seemed hours before they got to her apartment, and Jane and Brendan helped her inside while Dom parked the car. Her dog, a Golden Retriever named Skye, greeted her anxiously. She dropped her hand as her companion nudged her for attention. Jane called the dog and Brendan lead Lisbon back to her bedroom. Skye playfully charged Jane. Apparently they had become fast friends over the last couple of days, since Jane had been caring for her.

A new dose of painkillers was administered, and she found herself nearly asleep as soon as Brendan tucked the blankets around her. Skye slipped through the door and leapt up on the bed. The canine sighed contentedly as she took her normal position at Lisbon's feet.

"You need anything, 'Resa?" Brendan asked, brushing her hair out of her eyes. An image came to her suddenly of a small boy with an impish grin asking her the same thing when she was recovering from a broken arm as kids. Placing her hand over his, she smiled and murmured a negative. He grinned. "Sleep tight, sis. We'll try to come out and see you in a few weeks. I'll probably be gone when you wake."

"Safe flight," she murmured.

Brendan quietly exited, and Jane hit the light as he followed.

* * *

Lisbon wasn't sure what woke her, but she lay still, trying to figure it out. Suddenly, a heavenly aroma reached her nostrils, and her nose twitched. Pizza. Hospital food had been bland and unappetizing. Maybe she was dreaming, after all that.

Jane's head poked in the door. "Since you're awake, do you want some pizza?"

Lisbon rubbed her sleepy eyes with the back of her right hand as her mind tried to make sense of Jane's words, much less how he'd known she was awake. "Yeah, I guess," she said blearily, fumbling as she tried to extricate herself from her blankets. Skye sat up suddenly, her face concerned with Lisbon's struggles. Jane came to her bedside and gallantly offered her an arm, which she took after favoring him with a wry smile. She didn't even mind that she had only a tank top and pajama pants on. Food was foremost on her mind at this point.

She felt more stable than she had at the hospital and released his arm as he pulled out a chair for her. A pizza sat on the table, but not just any pizza. Zelda's pizza. Gourmet, Chicago style pizza. There was even a salad. "Wow," she murmured. "How did you—" Lisbon stopped, eyeing Jane. "You went through my receipts, didn't you." It was most definitely a statement.

Jane just grinned. "It was worth it, wasn't it? This is our closed-case pizza, Lisbon."

Her face became shadowed for a moment, but she suddenly reached for the salad, gingerly pulling the bowl toward her. Jane jumped up immediately. "Here, let me be a gentleman for once," he joked, and gave her a nice mound of salad. "I figure it'd be best if I cut up your pizza, since trying to eat it with your hands would be tough. Eating pizza is tough in general, without bum hands."

Lisbon realized he was babbling. Jane never babbled unless it had a purpose. She didn't see the purpose here, and her only guess was that he was afraid of making her angry with him for calling her attention to her needy state. She didn't care for her needy state much, but Jane couldn't really be blamed for that.

Well, she supposed he could be, in a way, but she had always found it useful to place blame on those who committed the act instead of those who may have unwittingly played a part in these schemes.

"That would be nice, thanks Jane," she said. He seemed a bit surprised.

The salad was delicious and she found herself clearing her plate. Jane had carefully cut the pizza—a veggie, her favorite—into edible bites, though she made him leave the crust as it was. The crust was her favorite part. He filled her in on what had happened the last twenty hours, letting her know that her brothers arrived at their respective homes safely. She missed them, but at the same time, she was glad that they were not here hovering.

"I didn't think you'd leave to go anywhere, much less all the way down to Zelda's," Lisbon said as she munched on her crust, pretending she didn't see Jane slip Skye some of his food.

Jane had an impish look on his face. "I didn't. I made Cho do it."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Poor Cho. And you didn't even invite him to eat it."

He shrugged. "I paid for one for each of us. He took the other back down to the office for him, Rigsby, and Van Pelt. I figured it might be a little early to get the whole gang in here."

Lisbon started to protest that she'd like to see them, and then realized that she was exhausted and hurting. The last thing she would want to be doing was entertaining guests.

Jane seemed to see the wave of tiredness wash over her, and he stood, bringing her pills. She kicked it back with the rest of her water.

"Let's catch a little of the news before I go pass back out," she said. "I feel so out of it."

Jane wisely didn't come help her, but he did watch her, and she arrived to the couch without incident. To combat her exhaustion, she sat up, pulling a blanket over her legs. She absently noticed that her badge and gun were on the coffee table. Cho must have found the car and returned her things.

There was really nothing new in the world: North Korea was still barking like a Chihuahua with little-man syndrome, Obama made another few speeches about the economy, and fires were ablaze across California. She was about to doze off when she heard her name.

"—Agent Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation was hospitalized Sunday after heroic efforts to rescue an unidentified Sacramento man from an alleged mob hit." Conway Monaghan's picture popped up on the screen and her gut clenched painfully. "Conway Monaghan, long-suspected of running the 'Sacto Irish' in Sacramento was killed in the struggle, along with two other men: decorated Sacramento Police Department Detective James O'Leary and retired Sacramento Police Lieutenant Thomas Hennessy. According to state authorities, both men were employees of Monaghan for several decades and are thought to have been upper level lieutenants of his."

Lisbon's picture came on the screen, but she hardly noticed as the women continued with a litany of praises, obviously supplied by Minelli. She was in that room with him, could smell the subtle cologne that he wore. He was talking to her, but the roar in her ears covered his words. He touched her, and she shivered, unable to stop. She found she couldn't recoil, couldn't pull back from him. She heard a whimper—hers. Firm hands took her upper arms and panic closed her throat. Lisbon gasped air painfully.

"Lisbon," a voice said beside her. "Teresa, you're okay. It's me, Jane. You're alright. Just relax."

Her eyes widened when she saw Jane, saw that they were in her living room. The TV was off.

Jane was kneeling in front of her, his hands still on her upper arms. His eyes searched her face worriedly.

"I'm—" she began, then cleared her throat, catching her breath. Her eyes held tears and she blinked rapidly. "I'm okay, Jane. Just a…I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"You just had a panic attack," he stated sturdily, then sat down beside her, his hand on her back. His gentle touch anchored her to reality.

She shook her head and tried to control her breathing. All she managed was a deep shuddering breath. "I just didn't expect to see it on the television. I'm fine, really."

"You want to talk about it?" he asked.

Lisbon stood suddenly, nearly toppling them both over in the process. "Good night, Jane," she replied stiffly.

"You aren't fine, you know. I can see it in your eyes."

She turned without having taken a step, her eyes blazing angrily. "How dare you, Jane?" she demanded angrily. "You have no clue what I'm feeling. You may be able to impress simple-minded people with your gift of observation, but don't try to understand me, Jane. Don't try to read me."

He didn't seem a bit perturbed. "You feel like a hypocrite for taking such pleasure in killing Monaghan," he began easily, sitting back on the couch. "First: you're an officer of the law, second: you lectured me about Red John, and third: you're supposed to be a better human being than him. Not only that," he continued, his face becoming more serious. "But you gave up. You quit. You don't care about your life. You care about revenge. And you're looking at that now, seeing that the only thing that saved you was the knowledge that he violated your mother, not that he was about to do the same to you, and you wonder why. You wonder what that says about you. Why _don't_ you value your life, Teresa?" She realized that he was actually angry. Angry with her.

The silence was deafening as she stared at him, shock splayed across her face, mixed with rage. He just looked at her, his expression daring her to contradict what he'd just said, what he knew to be true.

"Get out," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. Skye stood from her position near the couch, seeming to sense her mistress' distress. "Now, Jane. Get the hell out of my apartment."

He crossed his legs, seeming relaxed. "You feel vulnerable because you couldn't control the situation. You feel cheated because your parents and the chance at a happy and normal life were taken from you by Monaghan. You are angry because he deserved more, deserved to suffer instead of the painless and quick death you gave him. I know what you're feeling Lis—"

Jane stopped when she leveled her weapon at him. "Get. Out. Now." Her voice broke at the end. "Do you understand this, Jane? Are you reading this okay?" Lisbon was yelling now. Her face, however, was white with shock except for the dark circles under her eyes. She was trembling, the gun shaking slightly. Her eyes looked haunted and pained, and her chest heaved with rapid breaths. She winced slightly, a hand going to press against her chest involuntarily.

He'd gone overboard. His hands came up and he stood. Skye growled at him, though reluctantly. She seemed to be confused by the situation.

"You don't know what I'm feeling, Jane," she said, her voice strained but in control as he walked to the door. "And you never will."

"So tell me," he suggested, turning to face her as he reached the door.

"Fuck you," she snapped, gesturing with the weapon. "And don't come back."

Patrick Jane reluctantly shut the door and she locked it quickly, all three locks.

Exhaustion caused her to sway and she sat down where she was. Skye padded over to her and she pushed the gun aside, the safety still on. Wrapping her right arm around her dog, she sobbed into the golden fur as Skye patiently supported her.

* * *

A/N: I don't know if any of you all caught this, but in one of the episodes (Red Sauce, I believe) it briefly shows a picture of a dog framed on her desk that looked a bit like a Golden Retriever. I figured I'd add that in for kicks.


	11. Painful Questions

**In Nomine**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Comments: You all make my day with reviews. Thanks to Ebony10 especially for finding a mistake I made! I was going to get this up earlier but for some reason it just didn't sit right with me. Hopefully it's ready for you now. It's one of my favorites, I have to admit.

* * *

**Chapter 11-Painful Questions**

He was going to kill her. Through the haze of pain Lisbon looked up at the man standing over her. Monaghan smiled as he held his knife, dripping with blood.

He crouched over her, and a knee pushed between her legs, his thighs forcing hers open, his face coming down to hers.

Lisbon violently jerked her head to the side to avoid his lips, and that's when she saw him.

Monaghan ripped at her shirt, at her pants, but she hardly noticed. Jane's lifeless blue eyes stared at her, only a couple of feet away. His head had been nearly severed from his shoulders, and she could see the glistening white of bone and cartilage. Blood slowly pooled across the floor, soaking her shoulder and her hair as Monaghan's teeth sank into her neck and his hand fumbled with his zipper. _Jane!_

A scream ripped from her throat and she tried to escape. She couldn't. She sobbed frantically but Monaghan's body trapped her. Her arms couldn't move, nor her legs. Panic stole her breath even as excitement gave him his. It was hot, and his sweaty skin made slapping noises against hers. The smell of his breath, of his sweat and body mixed with the metallic tang of Jane's blood made her stomach roil and bile rose in her throat.

* * *

Teresa Lisbon shot up in bed, immediately emptying her stomach on her bedroom floor. After several bouts of painful retching, she finally wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sat back. Slowly, the panic began to fade, the disorientation dissipated. Tears stained her cheeks and she shuddered at the memory. It was nearly two in the morning, and after three hours on the floor next to Skye, and another three here, she realized that she'd had a one really shitty night of sleep.

There was no way she was going to get any more.

Forcing herself out of bed, she cleaned up the mess, angry with herself. She was stronger than this. So what that Monaghan did what he did? He didn't succeed, except in her dreams. She was making this worse than it really was.

Stumbling into the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee. Coffee gave her a sense of normalcy and its aroma calmed her.

She collapsed on the couch to wait for it, and was asleep before the coffee finished.

* * *

Lisbon woke with a start, and almost immediately groaned. Tears sprung to her eyes at the sudden onset of pain and stiffness. The aroma of coffee filled the room and she glanced at her clock. Ten a.m. She realized that her phone had woken her.

The phone rang again, and she scrambled to reach the phone that sat on the coffee table. With one slim hand, she nabbed it as the answering machine came on. "Lisbon," Minelli growled over the speaker. "Pick up if you're there."

"Yeah," she said breathlessly, grimacing as she switched the phone from her left to her right hand. "Yeah, I'm here."

"FBI wants to talk to you," he said irritably. She knew it was directed at the agents invading his office, and not her. At least she hoped so.

"Send them over, sir," she said tiredly, glancing at the dishes heaped in the sink. No time for that. Maybe they'd be willing to do her dishes for her.

"They want you down here, ASAP."

She sighed, rubbing her sleep-filled eyes.

"Want me to send Jane to come get you?"

Lisbon closed her eyes briefly. "Send Cho."

* * *

Though she'd downed her pills before she left, her hip was aching like mad before she made it to the front door of the CBI building. The graze had been deep, though generally didn't bother her much, especially considering that she had been laying around for the last week. The movement of walking to the car and then inside stretched her injured flesh, something it didn't like a bit.

But Lisbon gritted her teeth and kept going. She had a lot to answer for, she knew, but that's how undercover was. Which was why the next time Minelli or the Attorney General or the President of the United States himself asked her to go undercover, she was going to tell them to go fuck themselves. See how they liked that.

Limping in, irritated, in pain, and a bit woozy, she finally made it to her floor. Cho had offered to walk her in before he parked the car, but she'd waved him off. She didn't like him seeing her struggle with something so simple as walking and breathing at the same time.

Minelli gave her a nod from his office and she entered.

"You look like shit, Lisbon," he said bluntly.

She collapsed in one of his chairs. "Thanks," she said breathlessly.

"Don't get too comfortable," he muttered, glancing behind her. She didn't have the energy to turn and see who he was looking at.

"Agent Larson," Minelli greeted, a little guardedly. "This is Agent Teresa Lisbon. Agent Lisbon, Agent Bret Larson."

He moved up beside her and nodded briefly. She simply studied him. Larson was a tall, well-built man, an FBI poster boy. He was dark-haired and his blue eyes were intense.

"Follow me, please," he told Lisbon without further discussion. "We have a few questions to ask you."

Lisbon stood carefully, coughing slightly and Minelli gave her a concerned frown.

"Lisbon," he said suddenly, and she turned. "You want me in there?" he asked gruffly. "You look like you're about to fall over."

She shrugged, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I'll be fine, sir. Thanks though."

"All you have to do is say the word," he offered quietly, with a glance at Larson, who stood impatiently in the doorway. "You don't have to do this all at once."

"I'm fine, Minelli," she murmured. He sighed, exasperated.

They passed by her squad room, and she nodded at her team, giving them a small smile. Surprisingly, Jane was there. She hadn't expected that. He looked up at her, and instead of a smile, he watched her impassively. She could almost hear his voice from the night before and she looked away quickly, swallowing. Damn him.

Larson led her to an interrogation room, and he shut the door behind him. A blonde woman, a little older than herself, already sat in the room, in the spot she normally occupied. Unperturbed, she took the seat across from her, grateful to be sitting.

"Agent Lisbon, this is Agent Amanda Yarrow," Larson introduced briefly.

Yarrow was the type of law enforcement agent that Lisbon despised. It was clear from her body language that she had an agenda of her own. She was impatient, and by the look she gave Lisbon, had already formulated the outcome of the case. She was the judgmental type, her blue eyes full of scorn, however she tried to hide it. Lisbon fought back an immediate urge to shoot her.

"We have a few unanswered questions," Larson began, sitting down. He flipped open a file, her file. "You've been with the CBI ten years, correct?"

The questions came quickly, and she knew his strategy by the second question. Ask easy questions, mindless questions, and then hit her with something you really wanted to know. Numb them slowly, and then amputate. How long had she been team lead? Her mother's death, a hit by the mob? Her father killed himself? Foster homes? How had she gotten this undercover gig? How had she been vetted?

She answered the questions with short, clipped responses. She forced herself to relax, but to stay on guard. That was difficult to do in her condition, but she couldn't afford to let them take advantage of her now. That's what they wanted.

"Why'd you murder Officer Halloway?" Yarrow asked casually.

Lisbon's irritation spiked but she forced herself to relax. "Have you ever killed anyone in the line of duty, Yarrow?" she asked calmly. "Because that's what I did. Cho was under fire, so I neutralized the threat. It was justified to do from the mob's side too, since he was a liability for them. He knew nothing I didn't."

Yarrow's eyes said she didn't believe her. "And so you neutralized a 'threat' and then shot your own teammate? Seems reasonable." Her tone was sarcastic.

Fixing her with an icy glare, Lisbon leaned back slightly. "It was risky, but I knew I could make the shot, I knew she was wearing a vest, and I knew she kept a Bible there. All other scenarios I considered seemed either too dangerous for my team, or too transparent for Monaghan. I made a choice—"

"One that nearly killed your teammate," Larson said from behind her. "You shot her in the heart, Agent Lisbon."

She didn't even jump, and she could detect his disappointment. "No, I shot her in the vest. Big difference, Larson."

"You almost killed her, just to keep your cover," Yarrow said disdainfully, flipping back her blonde hair.

"I did what was necessary," Lisbon said dryly, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm bitchy because they shot me twice and stabbed me. What's your excuse?"

"You—" the FBI agent began angrily.

"The drugs. You sent two and a half million dollars out on the streets," Larson interrupted. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Lisbon sighed. "It was tagged by the Narcotics guys. They've probably already picked up the buyer and the drugs. Though I doubt you bothered checking. Maybe you should send Judge Yarrow to go see, since she's already decided that I'm as guilty as Monaghan in all this."

"You've killed for no reason, shot cops, dealt drugs," Yarrow reeled off with relish. "Did you sell guns too? Engage in some loan-sharking? Or did you just hang on Monaghan's arm, a nice toy for him to show off and to keep him occupied at night—"

Lisbon exploded out of her chair, the table moving several inches toward Yarrow, impacting harshly with her chest. Yarrow's hands grabbed the table edge, stopping it from going further. Her face was cautious, surprised. Both women stared at each other, faces mere inches apart, both exerting force on the table. A heavy silence settled over the room.

Suddenly, Lisbon felt something warm on her knee. Glancing down, she saw that her left hand was dripping blood through her soaked bandages. Red stained the table and the floor. Images flashed in her mind, obscuring her vision. She was face down on that floor again, a knife jutting from her hand. Blood was everywhere. She was suffocating under his weight.

Violently she ripped her mind away from the images with a gasp and collapsed back into her chair as if the air had been let out of her. Yarrow released her own hold on the table. "Go check with Narcotics," Lisbon said roughly. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, letting the blood drip to the floor. "They'll tell you what happened to the drugs." She watched it absently The wet plops of blood on the floor were hypnotizing, and she closed her eyes against the pain.

Larson nodded to Yarrow who stalked outside, casting a glare at Lisbon. Larson took her seat. "She'll get you a towel. You really should be careful with your injuries, Agent Lisbon," he said coolly. "Now, why did Patrick Jane come to Monaghan's, and how did he know where to go?"

* * *

Cho stood next to Minelli, his face tight with anger as his boss was grilled by Agent Larson. They watched through the one-way glass from the other room. Blood had made a fairly significant pool on the floor under her hand until Yarrow finally returned with a towel. Lisbon was pale and obviously exhausted, but she answered every question.

"Should have let me stop that there, sir," Cho said to Minelli, who wore his displeasure plain on his face.

"She did it to herself, Cho," Minelli muttered. "I told her she could stop any time, just to give the word, but she's stubborn."

"She doesn't want to give in with Yarrow there," Jane said from behind them. Minelli jumped. Cho barely contained his own surprise. "And they say we men are prideful."

"Look," she was saying, her voice coming through the speaker. "We keep him around because he solves cases. He reads people well, he pieces information together faster than any person I've seen. He's an insufferable asshole, but he's very, very good at what he does."

Cho glanced at Jane, who had a ghost of a smile on his face. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes never left Lisbon.

"That doesn't answer the question, Lisbon," Yarrow pushed.

Lisbon sighed and closed her eyes, as if seeking patience. "Patrick Jane found that my father had been bailed out several times by Monaghan. He hoped Monaghan may at least have information regarding my whereabouts. That's all in his report, I'm sure." Her voice was slower, articulated, and laced with disdain for Yarrow's perceived incompetence. Yarrow picked up on it and scowled. "As for why, I don't know. You'd have to ask him. At any rate, he was able to help me set a trap for Monaghan, even though it didn't turn out as well as I would have liked."

"That's certainly putting it mildly," the other woman drawled, sitting back in her chair. Her blue eyes flicked back down to the folder. "And Monaghan. You broke his neck with your bare hands. Where did you learn it?"

"Ex-boyfriend. A Marine." Her lips upturned slightly. "Why do you care?"

Yarrow ignored her question. "And how did that feel, to snap his neck like that?"

Lisbon leveled a look at her, but didn't speak.

"Did it feel good?" Yarrow prodded, leaning forward. "Was it nice to finally get that revenge for your mother? For your father? Did you need that visceral contact…need to feel his life leave his body? What did you whisper to him, in that last moment, Agent Lisbon?"

To Cho, his boss looked as fragile as he thought he'd ever seen her. Her shoulders were slumped, her hands shook, her eyes widened, giving her a slightly wild look. Jane was visibly tense as well, and Cho stepped closer to him in case he decided to do something crazy.

"You want to know what I felt, Agent Yarrow?" Lisbon said finally, her voice faint. Minelli reached over to turn the volume up. "At what point? The point where I knew I was going to die, and Jane would be next? The point where Monaghan tried to…tried to rape me?" She gulped at that point, trying to collect herself. "Or the point when I knew that I had to kill him, or I would be killed instead?"

Her voice trembled, and she swallowed, emotion on her face. The memories were clear in her green eyes, and it was a while before she spoke again. "I killed him because if I didn't, I would die, and he would win. Jane would die. I didn't know that Cho and the others were behind me for those last moments. I simply acted out of self-preservation. And while I won't—" her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "However it made me feel at the time or since doesn't change the fact that I killed him to save my own life, and no other reason."

"So you don't deny killing him for revenge," Larson stated from his position behind Lisbon. She ignored him.

Yarrow leaned back with a smile. "And you didn't answer my question. What did you say to him?"

Cho saw movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced back to see Angela Lee behind him, her critical gaze intent on the conversation. Van Pelt and Rigsby stood toward the back of the room. Rigsby was scowling and even Van Pelt looked angry. Minelli didn't seem to notice the gathering audience as he watched his agent face down the FBI.

Strangely, Lisbon's lips turned up slightly into a ghost of a smile. "That is a message reserved for a special few. I could demonstrate the technique though, if you'd like."

Lee chuckled and Minelli jumped again, his eyes widening at the sudden crowd. "That's my girl," Lee murmured, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. Minelli glared at them, but turned back to the window.

Yarrow's brows came together in a furious scowl. "Are you threatening me?" she hissed. Larson remained unmoving behind her.

Shrugging, Lisbon gave her a tight-lipped smile. "I only act in self-defense, Yarrow."

Lee let out a delighted laugh, loud enough that Yarrow's eyes focused on the glass, outrage clear on her face. Lisbon's gaze moved to the window as well, and her amusement covered her haunted expression for a moment.

"That's all for now," Larson said briskly, gathering his things up off the table.

Yarrow stood and moved to Lisbon's side of the table. She towered over Lisbon's sitting form. The older woman leaned down, her face in Lisbon's, her hand resting lightly on Lisbon's left shoulder. Lisbon tensed, her face apprehensive.

With a smile, Yarrow's hand tightened almost imperceptively and Lisbon gasped, jerking back slightly, which only served to make it worse. "Keep yourself available, Lisbon," she murmured, the pleasure of causing Lisbon pain clear on her face. "And don't leave town."

Yarrow stood suddenly and strode out of the room.

As the door opened, Minelli stopped her, his hand gripping her arm tightly. "You've got nothing on my agent, Yarrow," he growled. "You touch her again, and you will lose something."

Yarrow tsked, trying to mask the pain he was causing her. "CBI is threatening me right and left today. Sounds like a management problem. And your agent, while I may not be able to get her on criminal activity, she's demonstrated two years of poor judgment. I'll get her off—"

Minelli had her against the wall in a second. Larson started toward her, but Cho stepped in front of him, his arms crossed. "Not your fight, Larson," Cho said neutrally. "She started it in that interrogation room. She can finish it."

Larson looked like he wanted to go through Cho, but his gaze found Rigsby, a few steps behind Cho, and he seemed to rethink his odds.

"Agent Lisbon is my best agent, and you will be laughed out of court for what you have on her. I suggest," Minelli hissed, tightening his grip on her arms for emphasis, "that you and your partner get the hell out of my station before I make a call to your superior for badgering my agent. I gave you access, and you abused that privilege."

He released her and gave her a little push towards Larson. "Now get out. You've worn out your welcome."

With a glare, Yarrow sniffed irritably and followed Larson toward the elevator.

Cho gestured with a tip of his head and Rigsby and Van Pelt started after them, making sure they left the building without ado. Lee wore a self-satisfied smile.

Lisbon still sat in the center of the room, her eyes closed, her face pale. Blood dripped from the soaked towel, but she didn't seem to notice.

Minell's face softened slightly, but anger was still clear on his face. "Stubborn woman," he muttered. "Cho, why don't you get her to Urgent Care and make sure that's stitched back up, then get her home."

Cho seemed uncomfortable, but nodded. He glanced at Jane, who didn't meet his eyes, simply watched Lisbon. Something had gone on between them, he knew. Jane would have normally leapt at the chance. Instead he remained quiet, distant.

"I'll go with you," Lee said, surprisingly. "She'll need some help when we get her home. Poor Cho might not be able to handle helping his female boss get into bed." Her voice was darkly amused.

Cho scowled, and her offer didn't seem to comfort him at all. Lee grinned and went to grab another towel.

* * *

Lisbon opened her eyes when she heard footsteps, surprised to see Angela Lee from Organized Crime in front of her. The darkly beautiful agent held out the towel with a small smile. "You did the CBI proud, Lisbon," she said quietly, pulling up a chair to sit in front of her. Lee carefully unwrapped the current towel and dropped it to the floor.

The smaller woman shook her head slightly with a faint smile. "I kicked my own ass, Lee."

"Well Yarrow couldn't, so someone had to."

Lisbon had to smile at that as Lee wrapped her hand. She winced as it tightened and Lee murmured an apology. Cho came in and the two helped her stand.

"Hang on a sec," Lisbon breathed, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Cho supported most of her weight from her right, and Lee helped balance her from the left. They slowly made their way down to one of the CBI SUV's, in which Lisbon gratefully sank into.

She was asleep before they reached the hospital.


	12. Of Spectrums and Ends

**In Nomine**

Comments: Such a hard chapter to write! I've spent all afternoon going over it. It is what it is, and I hope it works for you. One to two more chapters at the very most. Even though this is likely a good place to stop it, but I have a few other things in store for them. A few suicidal mentions in here, just as a warning. As always thanks for the reviews.

**

* * *

Chapter 12-Of Spectrums and Ends**

The worst part about traumatic encounters, Lisbon decided, was the department psychiatrist. Twice a week the woman descended on her apartment, trying to pull out her feelings, her insecurities, her vulnerabilities.

In some ways, Lisbon wished she could do what the woman wanted—divulge her feelings, have a good cry, and get put back on the job. But that wasn't her. She didn't like that kind of vulnerability. She could handle her own problems. She didn't need Dr. Macy Taylor to sort them out for her.

Macy Taylor sat on her couch with an exasperated look. "You know you can't go back to work until I clear you, right Teresa?" she asked finally. She seemed disappointed in her.

Lisbon sighed, her hands on her knees. "Look, Macy," she began. "I'm fine. It was tough, it's always going to be with me, and I'm okay with that. I _need_ to go to work. Can't you see that?"

"Do you still have the night terrors?" Macy asked pointedly. The doctor's head dropped slightly to one side and her lips turned up sympathetically. Macy knew the answer.

The agent looked away briefly, then her green eyes locked back on Macy. "A few." Though the nightmares were vivid, the night terrors were almost worse. They left her extremely disoriented and confused, as well as sore. Skye wouldn't even sleep with her anymore for fear of getting hurt by Lisbon's thrashing. She hadn't told Macy about the hole in her wall she'd discovered after waking up from a night terror two nights ago.

Macy's face said she didn't believe her. "A night, maybe." Her voice was wry.

Lisbon sat back in her chair, resisting the urge to pull her knees up to her chest. Macy Taylor was older than Lisbon by about ten years, and she always thought of beaches when she saw the woman. Her hair was a sandy brown, her skin healthy and golden—not a golden of spending time in the tanning booth, but a natural skin tone that most women were jealous of. Her brown eyes were not only kind but measuring. She knew people.

Macy Taylor was very good at her job. Lisbon sometimes hated her for that.

"Let me prescribe you something to help you out—"

"No," Lisbon said forcefully. "No drugs."

"Taking antidepressants doesn't make you weak, Teresa."

"I don't need them."

Macy sighed. "You're being stubborn. You have PTSD. It's not something to mess around with."

Lisbon was silent for a moment, her eyes on the floor. She finally lifted them. "I've done a lot—said a lot—that I wouldn't do or say for anyone else," she began. "I've been to therapists before. I know how you work."

"I'm trying to help you."

Lisbon's brows came together. "I know, Macy. I know. I just…" she threw up her hands, unable to find the words. "Even if I take drugs, go to group therapy sessions, and talk about what happened, can you guarantee it's going to work? Are the nightmares and night terrors going to go away? Will I stop having flashbacks?"

Macy looked a bit uncomfortable. "I can't guarantee it, no."

"So why not let me do it my way, and see how that goes? If I'm not doing better in a couple months, then we reevaluate."

The older woman considered her, clicking her pen. "And I reserve the right to pull you off active duty for any behavior that I think endangers you or your team. Two months, but Dr. Hargrove clears you for active duty first. You still avoid using your left hand for most anything. ."

Lisbon scowled at her. "You're nosy."

Macy smiled smugly. "Observant. And I _am_ a psychotherapist."

* * *

Dr. Hargrove, much to her dismay, insisted on a week more at home. He wanted her to stress her body this week and see how it did when lives weren't on the line. She could understand that even if she didn't like the answer.

He also tried to probe into her mental state, which left her irritated. Every time she went in, he pushed her. Pushed her until she snapped at him. He was a nice old man, who meant well, and she hated treating him poorly. But whether he meant to or not, he pushed her buttons.

Lisbon tossed her keys on the counter, trying to push back her anger and frustration. Skye whined at her. She wanted out.

"How 'bout a run, babe?" Lisbon asked her suddenly. Skye wagged her tail and barked happily. Lisbon hadn't taken her for more than a walk around the block in the last three weeks.

She could stress her body. A run sounded good right now, especially in the dusk where no one would see her struggle.

* * *

Lisbon stopped for breath about a quarter of the way through her normal route. Skye whined at her as the sudden stop jerked her collar.

"Sorry," she gasped, her hands on her knees. "Just a minute, Skye."

Anger forced her to straighten. Her lung was fine. She'd been in worse pain, had a harder time breathing, been in tougher situations.

"Suck it up, Teresa," she breathed irritably.

_Right, left, right_. Her feet pounded into the black asphalt. Her heart drummed in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of her ragged breathing. Two miles turned into four, then into six.

Suddenly her lungs seemed to freeze. She stumbled, sliding on her knees. Her hands went to her chest and she struggled for air. Black dots filled her vision and she felt tears on her cheeks. Her forehead was on the ground and she sucked breaths frantically.

She felt pressure against her spine, and she saw Jane's face in front of her. Monaghan's weight smothered her breathing. Jane was yelling at her, but her heart was pounding too loudly to hear. Her breath came in tortured gasps. Sharp pain shot from her hand.

"Dammit!" she cried, and coughed painfully. Her fists pounded the asphalt. "Damn you!" The vision dissipated reluctantly.

Slowly her breath normalized as she huddled on the ground, and she finally rolled over onto her back, still panting. The asphalt was still warm from the day, but the breeze was cool. Lisbon closed her eyes, letting the cool air wash over her.

She felt Skye nuzzle her hair and she reached a hand back absently, opening her eyes. The moon was nearly full, and Lisbon studied the detail. She'd lived in the city most of her life, but she knew that there were places that were so dark that there seemed to be three times as many stars as she could see now. Maybe more. The light in the city blocked them out, but they were there.

Finally she got to her feet. Her chest ached and her knees burned. Insult to injury, those knees. She and Skye slowly walked home, one painful mile at a time.

* * *

The one thing that Teresa Lisbon loved most about her apartment was the clawfoot bathtub she'd had installed when she moved in. As a kid, she'd dreamed about having one. You always saw them in movies, on TV, in commercials. Lisbon wasn't the type to splurge, but it had been worth it.

Skye immediately went for her water dish when Lisbon let her off the leash and she dropped it on the floor, along with articles of clothing on her way to the bathroom, grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass on her way. After a moment, she grabbed her gun as well. She felt nervous tonight, unsettled. Couldn't hurt to be safe.

When she got into her bathroom, she set the wine, glass, and gun on the stool next to her tub and turned on the faucet. She put the stopper in when it was warm and poured some bubble bath from Bath and Body Works into the basin.

As it filled, the mirror caught her attention. At that moment, she wondered why she had a full-length mirror in her bathroom. She only ever wore work clothes, never really examined her body or her attire.

She did tonight. It was surprising what she found.

Her face was still flushed from the run, but it was thinner than she remembered. Her green eyes looked the same, except maybe a little older.

The wound on her chest was healing nicely, but it was still pink as it continued to knit together. The ones down the middle of her chest were also still pink, but far more faint than a gunshot wound. She fingered the slash in her hip, larger than the others.

The doctors had offered to refer her to a plastic surgeon who specialized in dealing with scarring like she would have, but she refused. Now that she thought back, she saw the irony. A woman who refused to display any emotional damage from her experience at Monaghan's insisted on wearing the physical damage for the rest of her life. Yes, she saw the irony.

Along with all of her recent scars were those from the past. It was a shame that flesh was one of the first things to decay, because an archeologist a thousand years from now would have quite a story to document. There was one from her father, several from their first foster family. A gunshot to her left side, just under where a vest would sit. That one was nearly six years old. It didn't seem nearly so long ago.

A knife wound marred her right thigh from a gang tough a mere two years previous, and glass had sliced into her right shoulder in a wreck she'd been in during a high speed chase four years ago. Her partner had died in that one. She hated thinking ill of the dead, but he'd been an idiot, and he'd died for it. She was been lucky he didn't kill her too.

The only thing that was constant was that crucifix that still hung around her neck. She touched it briefly.

Lisbon sighed, dropping her hand, and flipped the water off. She popped the cork off the wine and poured a glass.

Slowly she stepped into the water and lowered herself carefully into the steaming tub. Lisbon winced as the hot water hit her bruised and torn knees, but it was worth it. She leaned her head back with a weary sigh.

Two glasses of wine later, the water had cooled and her feet felt pruny. Lisbon released the water and dried herself. She threw on some pajamas and carried the remainder of her wine out onto the balcony, long with her glass and weapon. Skye followed her silently.

Cradling the glass in her left hand—she was going to use her left hand for anything she could—she studied the skyline of Sacramento, at least what little of it she could see. It smelled like rain and she took a deep breath. She was on her third glass, which was more than she was used to, but she didn't care. It wasn't like she had any pressing obligations for another week.

So she brooded, reveling in the morose. Her chest still ached from the exertion earlier tonight. She felt the anger rise back up, the anger at herself. Would she never be able to just move on, to be free of him? Why couldn't her mind admit that she'd won? Why did she still feel Monaghan on her back, still feel his lips on her neck, his hands on her chest? Every night she fought him, and every night she lost.

Her dreams were vivid and terrifying. Most nights, Monaghan raped her violently. Sometimes he killed Jane. Sometimes he killed Lisbon. Sometimes she killed Jane. Sometimes it was an odd marriage of any number of the four. Always she woke up in a sweat, brought back to reality by her sore shoulder and hip, or her aching hand. Usually her hand.

She stood, a little unsteadily, leaning against the railing, her left hand cradling her nth glass of wine. Her right hand went to her neck, to the cross that hung there. It had been her mother's, and Lisbon remembered how Maggie Lisbon used to caress it as she prayed. Unbidden, the words came: _In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_. How many times had she heard that as a child? How many times had her devout mother said those words lovingly, reverently?

In a moment of anger, Lisbon yanked the crucifix off her neck, breaking the chain. Those same words had been used by Monaghan to sign away lives. How many times? Her father had likely said them. Kerrigan had.

She launched the crucifix into the night, and she saw it gleam as it arced down from her third story apartment. If God had any justice in him, he would have taken care of Monaghan years ago. Instead God had allowed him to continue destroying people in his name. How many people had he ordered the deaths of, in God's name? How many people had died while people like her father fell into his trap? God hadn't saved her mother, nor her father. He hadn't saved her. She'd had to save herself.

Or had she? The woman who had walked into that room wasn't the one who came out. The Teresa Lisbon who'd walked into that room was dead, no more. She wasn't exactly sure what had replaced her.

With a sigh, she stepped back, sitting back down. She filled her glass again, and her gun caught her eye. She wasn't sure why she continued to carry it around. Uneasiness followed her everywhere. Occasionally she would stop feeling the eyes, but rarely was that the case. She always felt eyes on her, the hair on the back of her neck raising. Macy had tried convincing her that it was her imagination, but she wasn't prepared to believe that quite yet. So she continued to carry it.

Lisbon picked up her gun. The metal felt cool against her palm. It felt right to be holding a weapon. It was an anchor, a solid—a constant. It was real.

Sometimes she wondered if that was her purpose in life. Lisbon closed her green eyes, trying to trap tears. Was she just a weapon? A tool? An extension of a will she didn't know?

It seemed that all she did was solve other people's problems. When her mother died, it was her job to keep things together. As a ten-year-old, she convinced herself that her father would get better if she would just keep the house together. He would stop drinking so much, would stop yelling, would stop hitting them with his fists.

He'd stopped alright. Joe Lisbon stumbled home drunk one night, yanked her out of her bed and beat the shit out of her because she'd left the bathroom light on. Her blood caused him to sober, and when he saw what he'd done, he put a shotgun in his mouth and blew his brains out in front of the three of them.

At that point, she had one goal—keep her brothers together with her. Through her unwavering insistence, they had eventually been united in a single home. An abusive home, but they were together. For a year, Lisbon had done what was necessary to keep her brothers safe and together, until her teacher reported the bruises, the broken bones, and the absences to Child Protective Services.

They moved on to more foster homes, her brothers in one, her in another. She went through seven, when each set of parents claimed she was impossible to deal with. Lisbon was a runaway, they said, when she only wanted to see her brothers, to be with them.

Finally, when she got out of the system, she adopted her brothers. She had been young, but she knew how to get her way. Lisbon knew they had to be together, and she had worked to put herself through college while they were in middle school and high school. Their small trust, left to them by their mother, had funded Dom's first year of school, but Lisbon was determined that both of her brothers would go to college. They did, and she paid for most of it.

Then in her job, she fixed problems no one else could fix. She found murderers and brought them to justice. That was who she was. A cop. Nothing else. She was no different than any other cop. Just a gun and a badge. She had no one in her life that needed her. Her brothers would miss her, but she rarely saw them anyway. Her death would be a sad occurrence that they would put behind them as soon as her body was in the ground.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she dimly noticed that the safety was off on her gun. She realized she had been living for everyone but herself, and she always had. Was there any reason to live for Teresa Lisbon? Her parents had been avenged, her brothers were safe. What else was there to do? Everything she did was in the name of justice or family or revenge. Nothing for happiness. Nothing for her, with the exception of a clawfoot tub and a dog named Skye.

The metal of the gun cooled her cheek where it rested and she shut her eyes. What would it be like, to just end this? To stop seeing Monaghan's face every night, to stop feeling him on her, to stop feeling him _in_ her? Something in the back of her mind said that suicide was a mortal sin, but she snarled back at it. Murdering her parents was a mortal sin in her book, and Monaghan had never been punished for that. In fact, he'd profited off it.

Suddenly, she heard a footstep behind her, and she leapt up, spinning with her weapon. Her vision swam dizzily as she dropped her glass. She heard it shatter on the deck of the porch.

Though his face was shadowed, she recognized his suit. His hands were up in surrender.

"I told you not to come back," she hissed finally. "Go away."

"I was driving by when this fell on my car," Patrick Jane said, holding out something shiny.

It was her necklace, her crucifix. Her heart clenched for a moment. "It's not mine. Driving by my ass. You were sitting down there, weren't you?"

Jane sat down in the other seat, the crucifix dangling from his hand. It was the first time she'd really noticed that she had two seats on her deck, even though they'd always been there. Why did she have two seats on her deck? "Maybe."

"I'm not in the mood, Jane," she said irritably, setting her weapon down. "Please, just leave."

"I came to apologize," he said, turning his head from the night sky to look at her. "I was out of line, and I said things I should have never said, no matter if they were true or not. I've come to realize that I care about you, and I said some hurtful things."

Lisbon found that she was a little stunned, and pushed her dark hair back as she thought. For once, Jane allowed her that silence, allowed her time to think. He didn't push.

"I…I accept your apology," she said finally, sitting down in her chair. "And I'm sorry for threatening you with my weapon. If it's any consolation, I never took it off safety."

"I know," he said, his voice slightly amused.

Lisbon leaned back and took a swig from the wine bottle, since she was sans glass. She held it out to Jane, who took it with a small smile.

"You weren't all wrong though," she admitted finally. "Which I'm sure you also know."

"Would you have pulled that trigger tonight?" Jane asked suddenly, passing the bottle back to her.

She took it slowly, gazing out at the horizon. It lit up briefly and a distant rumble of thunder reached her ears.

"I don't know," she said after a time. "I really don't, Jane."

"I thought I could. That's when they put me in the loony bin. Trust me, that's not somewhere you want to be. Every person you meet in there is either crazy or they're like me."

"There's a difference?" she asked dryly. He smiled.

They sat silent for a long time, passing the bottle back and forth wordlessly, watching the lightning in the distance.

"Did Macy ask you to come over here?" she asked finally, setting the empty bottle down on the ground.

"Macy? Oh, her," Jane murmured. "No. Well, yes, she asked me. She wanted me to hypnotize you—which says a lot, because she thinks I'm a fraud. But that's not why I came."

Lisbon laced her fingers across her stomach, her eyes still on the sky. "Why are you here, Jane?"

It took him a long time to answer. He sat up in his chair. "When my wife—when Ellen—was killed, and Evie—" he sighed with frustration. Lisbon's gaze moved from the distant storm to him, her expression patient.

"When that happened, I thought that the part of me that could enjoy life was gone. I couldn't see how I could ever regain it back. It was like they were that part, and Red John cut it out of me and then put it up on that wall. That was the part that made me care, that made me want to _laugh_, to…to love. It was gone."

Her heart resonated with his words. Monaghan had taken that slowly, beginning when she was young. He'd slowly clamped the arteries that fed that part of her until it had shriveled up and died. She felt empty, like a husk. There was nothing there except the small spark of buried hope that one day she'd feel something besides rage and fear and terror again.

Jane's voice dropped and he looked at his hands. He had the gold chain in his hands, and he played with the crucifix. "When Monaghan had you on the floor in front of me," he said hoarsely. "I realized that I still had that part of me. The part that cared about someone, that loved someone. I found it just in time to witness the first incision as Monaghan threatened to cut it out again."

Thunder rumbled ominously, closer this time. Skye whined and retreated indoors. She hated storms.

Lisbon's eyes were liquid and she fought to keep them in check. "Jane, I—"

He held up a hand. "Hold on, Lisbon. I want to finish. I was angry at myself for not realizing it sooner. Of all nights, you would think the one the night before might have jump-started it. No, it was when I almost lost you that I realized I couldn't handle it. I couldn't live through that again."

Jane shook his head, his eyes bleak. "Do you understand why I was mad at you? I realized that you were the most important thing in the world to me, and you just gave up. You were going to let him do what he wanted without a fight. Why wouldn't you fight for yourself, Lisbon?" he asked urgently. His voice was nearly a whisper.

She brought her knees up to her chest. "Because I was tired. I _am_ tired. Tired of fighting, of trying so damn hard. Life shouldn't be like this," she whispered brokenly. Tears inched down her cheeks.

Jane rose from his chair and crouched next to hers. "Teresa, I want to fight for you, to be someone you'll fight for yourself for, because you know that I love you, that I need you—"

"Stop," she demanded hoarsely, tears flowing freely. She was on her feet and away from him in a heartbeat. "Stop, Jane. You don't mean that. Just stop."

He held up that golden chain, a whole one that held both her crucifix and his wedding ring. "I'm not doing this out of unchecked emotion, Teresa. I've had a month to think about this. I know the difference between infatuation and true feelings. Dammit, Lisbon. Why can't you believe that someone might actually care about you?"

Her hands trembled as she grasped the railing. Fat drops began to fall around them. She didn't answer.

"Because that means that you have worth," he said quietly, answering his own question. "That your life is more than a gun and a job. That you have a future that's worth living for."

A sob tore from her throat and he moved closer to her side, leaning against the railing next to her. "Teresa," he said quietly. "I'm not doing this to cause you pain. I'm doing it because you make me happy. You make me realize that there are more important things in life than the past and revenge. I want to make you happy. I want you to realize that there are more important things—better things—in life than the past and revenge."

Lightning lit up the sky, thunder following it quickly. Rain fell steadily now and the wind began to pick up. Jane hardly noticed.

"You don't understand, Jane," she whispered, bringing her head up.

He put a hand to her face, wiping tears away with his thumb. "Make me understand."

Her expression became distant. "I almost killed you," she said quietly. "To keep my cover I—" she broke off, unable to continue, unable to look him in the eye. "I almost did, and I'm so—" her voice broke off.

"I wasn't afraid to die, Lisbon, not if it would have spared you what you suffered," he whispered, taking her hand.

She shook her head. "I couldn't have that on my conscience."

He tapped her under her chin and her eyes focused on his. "I know," he said quietly. "And I couldn't bear it on my conscience if I let you destroy yourself because of what that bastard did to you and your family."

It was hard to distinguish the tears on her face from the raindrops, but he could see that she was crying. Thunder crashed nearby, lightning arcing down around the city. The wind was whipping up, blowing trees and streetlights.

"It was my decision, Jane," she said, her voice choked with tears. "My decision."

He put a hand on either shoulder, his face near hers. "Not anymore. You don't have to do things by yourself, anymore, Lisbon. I am here for you, if you'll have me."

Lisbon's face crumpled and Jane pulled her close. She shook silently against him as they stood in the rain, the torrential storm raging around them. He made small noises of comfort, one hand rubbing her back like he used to do for his daughter when she was upset. The other hand stroked her wet hair, his chin rested on the top of her head, and he noted that she smelled like honeysuckle. Finally, her arms went around him, and her sobs lessened, until she was finally still against him with only the occasional sniffle.

The rain was steady now, the lightning again in the distance. The thunder was silent, and he felt Lisbon shiver slightly.

"I was a hypocrite, Jane," she murmured against his chest. "I've killed people without a second thought, just because they were in my way. I have never felt more alive than that instant when I killed Monaghan. I don't even know if I'm a person anymore."

Jane took her shoulders gently and moved them apart enough that he could look into her eyes. "Teresa, there is a beautiful person in here," he said softly, his fingers light on her cheek. "You only let out the strength and the determination and justice and you think that's all you are. I see a person who is the most…most _real_ person I have ever met. Stop hiding the rest of you away from the world, Teresa. Let them see your kindness, your humor, your beauty, your femininity. Let them see Teresa Lisbon, for better or for worse."

Tears welled up again and she leaned into him. He kissed her forehead, his hand on her head.

Suddenly, her lips sought his. Her hands cupped his face, her slim fingers in his hair. Jane pulled her closer, responding in kind.

The salty taste of tears mixed with that of rain, and he carefully pulled back. Her eyes were brimming, but she smiled slightly, tremulously.

"Oh, Teresa," he murmured, pushing back a skein of her wet hair. "This isn't a ploy. I'm not trying to use you."

"I—"

"No, you don't know," he interrupted. "Dammit, Teresa. Don't you get it? I love you, and only you. Even if you don't return it, I still will. You don't have to make good for that night because you think I took it wrong. I didn't. I know what you did, and I admire you for it. If you love me, then tell me, but don't do something you will regret because you think it will make me happy."

She turned from him suddenly, a bit unsteadily, her hand going to her lips. "Damn you, Jane," she whispered. He almost couldn't hear it. "I'm not the woman you want. I can't be her."

He grabbed her arm and spun her back around. "You _are_ that woman, Lisbon. I just want you to be who you are and not who you think the world needs you to be. Stop being a coward."

His ears rang as she slapped him. Her face was furious. "I hate you," she hissed. She was nearly trembling with rage.

Jane rubbed his jaw slightly. Twice in one month. He was on his way to a record.

"Do you?" he asked, his eyes intent on hers.

Suddenly her rage shifted to something else almost faster than he could follow. Her hands grabbed his shirt, pulling him against her, and her lips were hot and demanding on his. Lisbon's fingers snaked up into his hair, her tongue forcing entrance into his mouth.

His hands cupped the base of her skull, his thumbs along her jawline and he took charge, kissing her forcefully. She made a small moan against him and their breath came in needy gasps. He backed her against the glass door, and his hands went to her hips, under her shirt and up her back, crushing her against him.

Her tongue intertwined with his, her teeth nipping his lips occasionally. Her hands were under his shirt, caressing his muscular chest. Her thumb flicked a nipple and he gasped, his insistent, hot kisses trailing down her neck to the spot where her neck met her jaw and she gasped. "I love you so much, Patrick," she panted, dropping her forehead under his chin. "As much as I've tried not to, I do."

"I think I just felt each end of the spectrum there," he said wryly, kissing her forehead. His hands continued to make circles on her back, his lips slowly kissing from her forehead down to her jawline.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but they crinkled in the corners with amusement. "You bring that out in me, I guess." Lisbon paused a moment, and his kisses ceased. "You know if you break my heart I get to kill you, right?"

She expected him to smile, but he didn't. His face was very serious. "I'm in this for the long-term, Teresa. I'm not here to kiss and run. You aren't going to scare me off, no matter how hard you try." Her hands were still on his chest and she finally slipped them around to his back, still under his shirt and vest..

Lisbon smiled, a little sadly, and rested her head on his chest, pressing herself against his warm body. "I don't want to scare you off, Jane," she murmured. "I just…this is hard for me. I'm not good at…well…sharing. I get defensive when I'm forced to. I know how you are…" His arms were like a warm blanket around her and she felt safe for the first time in weeks.

"You know what they say. The best defense is a good offense." His voice was amused, and maybe a little bitter. "You understand me better than you think, you just doubt yourself. That scared me, from the very beginning. So I put you on the defensive to keep you from seeing in here." He tapped his chest. "And because you're cute when you're angry," he teased.

"How 'bout when I'm drunk?" she asked.

He planted a kiss on her forehead. "That too."

"Jane…"

"Yeah?"

"I have to ask. The things you've said to me about…Red John." Her eyes sought his.

He gave her a grim look. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to kill him still," he said. "But I give him to you. It's your decision, not just because it's your case, but because you are the most important thing in the world to me. Not him." His voice was forceful. He meant it.

"And that," she said quietly. "Means more to me than anything you've said tonight."

The stood together, soaked, drunk, and tired, simply holding each other as if letting go would dissipate the dream they were having. Finally Jane pulled away. "You're shivering, Teresa," he murmured. "Why don't you go change?"

"Jane," she said, a little reluctantly. "I'm not ready for...further," her liquid eyes sought his, hoping she didn't offend him.

"It's okay," he said softly, pushing open the door, his hand on her back as she stepped inside. "I'm not either."

She nodded and went into her bedroom to change. Jane frowned. She had just flipped from confident and content to vulnerable. He knew that she wasn't completely healed just because he confessed his love to her, though he thought it would help to have someone in her life that she could open up to. It wasn't why he did it—he loved her so much that his chest ached with needing her. Not physically necessarily, but her presence comforted him. It made him feel warm inside, made him feel happy. Content. He wanted to find special ways to surprise her, to make her feel loved and wanted. And he wanted to do that for the rest of his life.

He heard a noise from her bedroom and frowned again. He knocked on the door. "Teresa?" he asked. She didn't answer, but he could tell the sound now. She was crying. He opened the door.

Lisbon sat on her bed in pajama pants and a tank top, wiping her face hurriedly. His eyes picked out the hole in her drywall immediately.

She handed him a large T-shirt and some shorts as if nothing were wrong. "Dom left these," she sniffed. He studied her critically but went to change, as quickly as he could. When he came back she was more collected, but still on the verge of collapse.

"Teresa, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting beside her. He put an arm around her and drew her close. The tears sprung back to life at his touch.

"I'm scared of hurting you, Patrick," she whispered hoarsely. "I don't think I can stand for you to...to touch me right now, not like that, or even be here when I'm sleeping. I'm afraid that I'll wake up and not know you, or I'll have a night terror and—"

He put a finger on her lips and she gave him a confused look. "Stop," he said firmly. "First, I'm good at ducking. Second, you've slapped me before." She barked a laugh through her tears on that one. "And third, we take this as fast or slow as you want. I'm here not because I need sex, not because I need companionship, but I'm here because I love you. So, we're both tired, we're both a little inebriated, and we could both use some sleep. Here," he said, settling in on one side of the bed. He held his arm open like he had that night at Monaghan's and she smiled.

Lisbon carefully climbed over him and settled beside him, shifting until she was comfortable. Jane flipped off the lamp, and a weight lifted from them both as they sank into a deep, contented sleep.


	13. From Cadenza to Finale

**In Nomine **

Comments: I'm thrilled you all liked the last chapter. Again, it was one of those that I didn't know how well it would go over.

Unfortunately, the end is here folks, as sorry as I am to see it go. I hope this ending does justice to the rest. I likely won't be doing a sequel to this story, as some have asked, though I've considered writing about the encounters that Cardone and Lee have had with Cho and Lisbon in previous cases. I've found that I really enjoyed those two in my story. So there may be some based off this story, but I doubt there will be sequels. Sorry! However, you might see a few more Jisbon stories out of me yet, I really can't help myself.

So here, Jisbonites, here is your ending! I'm sorry, no sex scene! I felt that it cheapened what has happened to them throughout this story, and that their relationship emotionally was the important aspect, not to mention that there are plenty of Jisbon scenes in other stories for you. It was tough to find an ending for this, but I liked writing this chapter. Enjoy, and thanks for keeping up with this story to the end!

* * *

**Chapter 13-From Cadenza to Finale**

It was a slow process. Lisbon had good days and bad, but she knew that she was going to be okay. She was back at work a week later, and found that while her and Jane's personal relationship was much different, that it only enriched their work one.

Her first day back had been everything she wanted. They picked up the murder of the heiress of a Silicon Valley tycoon, and it was if she never left. Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby seemed supremely relieved that they didn't have to walk on eggshells around her, that their boss was back.

The second day she found herself on the verge of tears at the oddest times, spending most of the day locked in her office, letting Cho direct the field operations. She'd snapped at both Rigsby and Van Pelt for small things. It had taken Jane an hour to coax her to open the door for him after the rest left to go interview the tycoon and his family, only to find her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

Lisbon's days could be one or the other, but their team quickly regained their position as the top case-closers in the Bureau. Slowly over the next few months, her night terrors ceased and her flashbacks were gone. She still had nightmares occasionally, but they were far less often. Monaghan's hold on her dissipated as Jane slowly became a stable part of her life.

The FBI officially cleared her of all wrong-doing after an extensive investigation—and a formal complaint against Yarrow by Minelli.

Macy had to admit that Lisbon's method of dealing with her experience worked, though she still cast suspicious looks at Jane occasionally, as if he may have actually hypnotized her. Jane milked that opportunity for all it was worth, enjoying watching Macy jump every time he touched her on the arm.

Jane entered her office, uninvited of course. He continued to do that over the last few months, regardless of her wishes. She found she didn't mind as much as she used to.

"So I _just_ was thinking about a big, strong, handsome fellow," she began teasingly as he shut the door.

He grinned at her and sat down. "Thinking about me, eh?"

She gave him a playful look. "About a companion for Skye, actually. Maybe a German Shepherd."

"Ha," he said, wryly amused.

Lisbon put her pen down. "What do you need, Jane?" she asked, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin atop her hands.

"Just wondering if you wanted to go to a nice dinner on Friday. I've...fallen into some reservations for a real nice joint."

She leaned back and crossed her arms. "Oh yeah? How nice?"

Jane tried to look innocent. "Formal?"

Lisbon narrowed her eyes. "There isn't a restaurant in town that I can—oh you didn't!" she gasped. "Il Cielo?"

He just smiled.

Her eyes widened and she sat up quickly, her finger jabbing accusingly at him. "You—stop reading my mind!" She'd been thinking about Il Cielo all week, craving their chicken marsala.

"That's not all we'll be doing, but make sure you're dressed to the nines!" he said happily and made a quick exit even as she threw her stress ball at him. It bounced harmlessly off the door frame, and she found herself grinning at his back.

Il Cielo was her favorite restaurant in the world, though she had only been there four or five times while dating a well-to-do lawyer—who turned out to be an asshole. She justified the entire relationship on the fact that she'd been able to eat at Il Cielo. It was worth it.

She sighed. Her relationship with Jane was surprisingly…well…wonderful. Jane was Jane, and his observant, intuitive personality was not as invasive as she thought it would be. Jane was gentle with her, but didn't treat her like she was breakable. He knew when she was hurting, when she was playful, when she was scared, or when she was in work-mode. She found herself reading him better than she ever did before and wondered if it was because he had opened himself up to her as well. They seemed to nearly read each others mind. The whole thing was unlike any relationship she had ever had.

He spent some nights with her, though he had never put any pressure on her to go further than some heady kisses and light making out. She knew he wanted it, she knew _she_ wanted it, but she wasn't ready. Just when she thought she might be, another nightmare would assault her. Jane always knew when she'd had one and understood without her saying a word. He was comfortable waiting.

He talked to her about his wife and his daughter, about his past. She found herself telling him about her parents, stories on her brothers. She told him about her undercover work the past two years. That was difficult, but she found herself able to discuss it openly with him as they sat on her couch, her head on his chest, or as they lay in bed at night, his arms around her. She felt safe then. Loved.

She was coming to realize that she loved him more deeply than she thought, and she knew it should scare her. It didn't. Lisbon found herself trying to find things to make him happy, taking more time off work than she had in years to spend time with him. She sighed happily, fingering the necklace that held both her cross and Jane's wedding band.

"Uh, Boss?" came a voice. Rigsby stood in front of her, papers in his hand.

She frowned. "What?" she asked, a little irritably. He was interrupting her daydreaming, and he seemed to realize it with a gulp.

"Just need you to sign this, Boss."

Rigsby left quickly after she scribbled her signature on the paper.

Lisbon spent time on paperwork that afternoon trying to figure out what else they'd be doing, and while she came up with several possibilities, none seemed probable.

After a half-day trip to visit the family of their current victim, she was back in her office, feeling a bit strained. Stress was worse for her now, though better than it had been the last few months since Monaghan. She'd found that music was strangely cathartic, particularly classical music.

One of her foster families had been full of musicians, both vocal and strings. Though Lisbon had gone through much of her foster experience miserable and bitter, something about their music had entranced her. Classical music had stuck with her throughout her life since that time, and she had befriended several musicians in college, one who still invited her to the Sacramento Philharmonic concerts occasionally, though she never attended. Her job was too much, kept her too busy.

She popped in a Dvořák CD, keeping it on low as she sat down to do paperwork. It was interesting to see how her teammates responded to her new music policy. Rigsby seemed uneasy with it, as if he wasn't really sure what it was. He had a hard time focusing when the music was on, and she usually had to turn it off when he came in to talk to her. Cho seemed to enjoy it, as much as Cho enjoyed anything. Van Pelt seemed to see it as a sign of healing, and smiled even brighter when Lisbon had it on. Lisbon wasn't sure if Van Pelt realized she played music to de-stress, not necessarily because she was in a good mood. Oh well. She bent her head down and continued working, letting the sweeping strains of the New World Symphony wash over her stress and tiredness.

* * *

Their current case heated up, and she found herself and the team working nineteen hour days. She'd already slept at the office once, something she hadn't missed doing at all. With a dead mother and two missing kids, they were working around the clock. Lisbon had immediately suspected the nanny, though all evidence pointed to the father. Within days, Jane had confirmed it, returning the frightened but healthy children back to their father and managing a stunning confession out of the nanny. Lisbon sent her team home early after a job well done.

With the heavy schedule, Lisbon didn't realize until she got home that it was Friday.

In a panic, Lisbon called Van Pelt. She had no clue what to wear. She hadn't been on a formal date in years, and this wasn't just any date. It was her first _real_ date with Jane. Eating Chinese in her in front of her TV didn't count, nor did grabbing a quick meal after a long day at work. Lisbon paced the living room waiting for her.

Finally a knock came, and she jumped. Grace Van Pelt stood outside, holding several hangers of clothes. "Hey, Boss," she greeted.

"Teresa," Lisbon corrected. "Or Lisbon if you can't stand it. We're off-duty. I asked you over as a friend."

"Sure…Lisbon," Van Pelt managed. "I'm excited that you're going on a date. I brought some of my roommate's clothes. You two are nearly identical in height and proportion."

A roommate. Lisbon didn't remember Van Pelt having a roommate.

She hadn't told Van Pelt who she was going on a date with, and Van Pelt seemed to study her, as if it might be written on Lisbon's forehead.

Lisbon tried on several outfits, and finally ceded to Van Pelt's insistence that she wear a darkly iridescent green dress that she felt was far too formal for the occasion, though she secretly loved the thing. Van Pelt scrounged through her closet and finally found some shoes she approved of. Lisbon realized sourly that Van Pelt was far more pushy than she ever remembered.

"Wow, Boss," Van Pelt managed after the finishing touches had been made. They'd fought with her hair and laughed over her makeup, but it was finally done. "You look…awesome. Incredible."

Lisbon's slender body seemed even more so in the dress and it accentuated her curves perfectly. Her hair was loosely pulled back with strands framing her face. They had agreed that only minimalistic makeup was necessarily, but as it turned out, for a self-proclaimed small town girl, Grace Van Pelt was a genius with makeup.

Lisbon smiled, almost shyly. "Thanks, Grace. I appreciate it. I wasn't prepared for this."

"Your eyes are just—"

Suddenly a knock sounded on the door and Lisbon's face froze. Van Pelt looked gleeful that she was going to meet the date.

Lisbon started for the door, but Van Pelt put out a hand to stop her. "You stay here. I'll get the door. Wait a few minutes to come out. It's an awesome affect."

"Van Pelt—"

Van Pelt shut her bedroom door in her face and Lisbon glowered at it, huffing a sigh.

She heard the front door shut, and unwilling to wait any longer, opened her door. She froze at the sight.

Patrick Jane's was in a tuxedo. The lines of his clothes brought out every good feature of his exquisite body. She found herself staring at him. He was grinning from ear to ear while talking to Van Pelt, but as he noticed Lisbon, his smile fell into an expression of awe. "You look…magnificent," he said quietly, holding out his arm.

She smiled contentedly. "You don't look so bad yourself," she replied, taking his arm. Lisbon turned her attention to Van Pelt. "And if you breathe a word about this before I give you the go-ahead, I won't miss vital organs, 'kay?" she said sweetly.

Van Pelt gave her a sickly grin, as if she thought it was a joke, but wasn't sure. Suddenly, she held up a hand. "Oh, I almost forgot!" She raced back to the bedroom and came back with a box. Lisbon recognized it. "When you were getting dressed, I found this. It would go perfectly with this dress."

She drew the emerald necklace around Lisbon's neck, fastening it. Lisbon absently settled the emeralds at her throat, unable to speak.

"It was your mom's," Jane said quietly. Lisbon looked up at him, and nodded.

"My mother used to tell me that one of our ancestors had a French lover who gave this to her because it matched her eyes. I have no clue if the story is true, but I had it assessed once, for insurance." She fingered the necklace. "It's worth…quite a bit, though I suspect that it is more likely that my ancestors were Jacobites who stashed jewelry and other gems smuggled from France. I've never worn it."

"It suits you perfectly," Jane said. "I forgot to tell you…" Jane held up two tickets.

Her eyes widened. "The Philharmonic! Mintz! How did you—"

"Remember?" he grinned. "I'm psychic."

* * *

Lisbon couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. She enjoyed the atmosphere of the Philharmonic, the culture. Somehow, Jane had even managed to secure a box for them. With Shlomo Mintz playing Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor—one of her favorite pieces—she knew this was the best date she could ever—or would ever have.

Lisbon would have never pegged Jane for a classical music aficionado, but he leaned forward in rapt attention during the _cadenza_ in the first movement, and remained that way through the rest of the performance. While she enjoyed the performance immensely, she couldn't help but watch him throughout it, Jane's hand gripping hers tightly, though not uncomfortably. His eyes sparkled, and his hair looked like spun gold, shimmering brilliantly whenever it caught light. He was a supremely handsome man, and Lisbon sighed every time she considered how very lucky she was. She shifted her hand to the back of his neck, playing absently with his golden curls as they watched the masterful performance.

They went for a late dinner at Il Cielo's, discussing the performance avidly. Jane, it turned out, had never been to any performance of _any_ orchestra, nor had he listened to classical music to any extent, but he admitted that he'd thoroughly enjoyed it. Much of the meal became a discussion of her favorite composers and artists. It then turned to English and Irish history, at the mention of her necklace, something that Jane actually knew very much about. That surprised her.

He claimed that it had been a hobby that he'd picked up when traveling overseas a lot. He'd spent a good amount of time in England—he was actually nearly fully of English blood, which Lisbon found amusing, considering the bloody past of their countries.

She enjoyed their talks—uncharged by romance, even though there was always an undercurrent of attraction. Jane was intelligent, he was well-rounded in his knowledge, and he enjoyed learning. They bantered back and forth, teasing each other good-naturedly.

He also enjoyed gossip. They discussed the relationship of Van Pelt and Rigsby with no small amount of pleasure. Jane suggested a double date, eliciting a very un-Lisbon-like giggle from his date at the thought of Rigsby's terror, faced with such an event with his boss. Jane then leaned in conspiratorially, detailing his plot to get Cho and Lee together. Imagining the two polarized cops together made her shake her head at the improbability that such a thing would end without injury.

Full of good food and a glass or two of wine, Lisbon realized she was content. She was happy. She reached across the table and put her hand on his. "This is probably the best night I've ever had, Jane," she told him honestly.

He took her hand and intertwined their fingers. "I hope to make sure it stays that way," he said lightly, and pulled a box from his jacket. "I know that we haven't been together long, but considering what we've been through, and how long we've known each other, and the things we've said, I think I can safely make this gamble."

To her shock, he slid out of his chair and went down on a knee in front of her.

"Oh, Jane," she murmured.

"Teresa Lisbon, is there the tiniest chance that you would consent to marrying me?" he asked, opening the box. Inside was a beautiful emerald surrounded by diamonds. It matched her eyes perfectly.

Her hands were over her mouth, and she couldn't find the breath to speak. She could feel the eyes of patrons all over the room.

Finally, Lisbon released the breath she'd been holding and locked her gaze onto his, dropping her hands back on her lap. "Wow, Jane," she breathed finally. "Oh my God."

He smiled a little nervously, but his eyes held hers, determined, full of love, and she could see deep emotion in that sea of blue. He knew what he was doing, what he was asking, and for once in all the time she'd known him, she saw a spark of uncertainty. He didn't know how she would answer, yet he'd asked anyway.

"In most cases," she began softly, aware of the ears nearby, "I would feel completely justified in putting you off. You know me, I like to be in control, and I am certainly not in control here."

She took a moment, smoothing her dress. "But I've thought about this a while—about us—and these things keep spinning around my head…dammit, Jane. You take all choice from me, and it strangely doesn't bother me. I really do love you, Jane, more than I could have imagined. Yes, I'll marry you, against the judgment of likely every sane person to have ever encountered you."

Jane's face broke out into a grin and he slipped the ring on her finger. It was the perfect fit. He stood and drew her up with him, kissing her slowly. Jane's hands held her face lightly, his thumbs caressing her smooth skin. Her body tingled as his kiss electrified every nerve in her body. Her right hand snaked up to his neck and the ring sparkled cheerily.

Lisbon was vaguely aware in her breathless daze of a few civilized cheers from the restaurant. It wasn't exactly a raucous place, but they had quite the audience. Jane pulled away finally, and she felt her eyes welling up. "Stop making me cry, you bastard," she muttered, dabbing carefully. "You're going to smear my mascara."

To her surprise, he laughed out loud and pulled her close, his eyes sparkling with a few tears of his own. "I intend on smearing your mascara for the rest of your life, Teresa. You'd better get used to it."

* * *

Walking to his car, he held her at her waist, keeping her close. She pulled on the shawl that Van Pelt had insisted she wear against the chilly night air.

"Wonder how consulting works with married couples," Lisbon mused idly. "A similar policy to married cops?"

"I looked it up. There's nothing on it. It's pretty much up to Minelli," Jane said knowledgeably.

"You mean you had Van Pelt look it up," Lisbon said with amusement. "She's been in on this the whole time, hasn't she?"

Jane made a noncommittal noise. "Secrets of the trade, you know."

"You bought this dress," she stated. "Van Pelt doesn't have a roommate. And she knew about this necklace because you found it while poking around my apartment. You knew I'd call her in a panic."

He grinned. "You see right through me."

She pinched his ribs playfully. "You're still a pain in the ass."

"You better not snore," he retorted. "Or steal the covers. I hate cover-hogs."

"_Me_ snore? You've slept at my place enough to know that I most definitely do _not_ snore. But you…have you heard yourself when your allergies are bothering you?"

He frowned down at her. "So that's why Cho's been kicking me at the office. You made Cho kick me!" he said incredulously.

Her face was full of mock indignation. "It was for all of us. You were disruptive. Disruptively snoring."

"I live to be disruptive, you know that." His voice was smug and self-satisfied.

"As long as you don't leave dirty socks lying around. I hate dirty socks with a passion."

"We're going to need a bigger house. I need a man-cave."

They stopped at the car and he rested against it, his gaze admiring her unabashedly.

"I thought that's what the couch was for," she murmured, leaning against him, her lips a mere inch from his. He folded his arms around her possessively.

"Oh, that's right," he smiled down at her. "What are you thinking right now, Teresa Lisbon? I can't seem to get a read on you."

She smiled conspiratorially. "I could tell you, but all the fun is in you figuring it out."

Before he could answer, she kissed her favorite psychic until all thoughts—both his and hers—were pushed from his mind.


End file.
